


The Wedding Date

by Chiyume



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Dom Steve Rogers, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hotel Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nipple Play, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Tension, Social Anxiety, Steve Rogers is the most oblivious moron, Tickle Fights, Wedding Fluff, and Tony is a little shit but that's why we love him, smol steve, wedding au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-03 19:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12153657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: The invitation, which Steve had received almost three months ago, is for a wedding. His childhood friend, Wanda, is getting married, and even though they haven’t spoken in years, Steve had still been pleasantly surprised to find that she had invited him to attend the big day.The only problem is that Steve doesn’t really want to go.If Wanda’s getting married, that means Brock is going to be at the reception as well. Brock Rumlow, who is is Wanda’s older, considerably more promiscuous step-brother, and coincidentally also Steve’s ex-boyfriend...When Steve's social anxieties makes him spiral into near-panic at the thought of attending his ex-boyfriend's sister's wedding by himself - single and alone - he turns to his best friend for advice. Bucky's solution is just as comforting as it is crazy, but damn it, Steve never could argue with Bucky's logic. And really, pretending to date his best friend shouldn't be all that hard....Right?





	1. An Interesting Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the ever glorious, humble, and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3
> 
>  
> 
> **Note: In this fic, Steve Rogers suffers from social anxiety, which in turn causes him to think very lowly about himself, his own social situation, and relationships. If this is something you're uncomfortable reading about, for any reason, this fic is most likely not for you. If not, carry on.**

Steve buries his face in his hands with a groan. Leaning into his palms for a moment, he then pulls the fingers back through his hair in frustration and sighs. He’s sitting on his living room floor, scrawny legs crossed, while Bucky sits on the couch, reading the invitation Steve had just handed him with a tightly clenched jaw.

The invitation, which Steve had received almost three months ago, is for a wedding. His childhood friend, Wanda, is getting married, and even though they haven’t spoken in years, Steve had still been pleasantly surprised to find that she had invited him to attend the big day. 

The only problem is that Steve doesn’t really want to go.

If Wanda’s getting married, that means Brock is going to be at the reception as well. Brock Rumlow is Wanda’s older, considerably more promiscuous step-brother, and coincidentally also Steve’s ex-boyfriend. 

They’d been together for almost three years before they broke up. Their relationship had been… well, admittedly not really everything it  _ could  _ have been, if Steve’s being honest. The sex had been great, no question, but when it came to emotions, Brock had been just about as accessible as a locked bank vault. 

They hadn’t ended on bad terms, even though Brock had gotten a bit offended when Steve told him he wanted to break it off. Steve wished there had been a simpler way, but breakups are never easy. Nevertheless, Steve had not expected to ever see Brock again after they split up and Brock moved out of town. Yet here Steve is, finding himself with a wedding invitation from the man’s  _ sister _ .

Steve had been given plenty of time to consider his options, but like a true procrastinator, he’s been putting the decision off for far too long. Now, the wedding is less than three weeks away, and Wanda has already called him to check if she should include him on the guest list. 

He had said yes.

So he’s apparently going, whether he wants to or not, and now he’s panicking.

He’s been contemplating whether or not he should come up with some excuse, like calling Wanda the day before the wedding to tell her he’s sick, but had quickly decided that doing so wouldn’t be fair to her. Even though they hadn’t seen each other in years, Wanda’s has always been a very close friend, and he can’t bear the thought of deceiving her. He has to go. Except he really, really,  _ really  _ doesn’t want to, at least not  _ alone _ .

And now he’s panicking.

Steve has, of course, tried dating over the past three years after Brock, but he’s still unwillingly single, and hopelessly so. The thought of spending the entire wedding answering questions about why, while Brock smirks at him behind his back, no doubt accompanied by his newest conquest, isn’t exactly something Steve is looking forward to.

It had never been a secret that Steve isn’t particularly well versed in interacting with other people; he’s polite and friendly enough, but his social skills beyond that of a simple greeting are close to nonexistent. To attend a wedding by himself scares him senseless, anxiety sitting like a heavy rock in his gut. So showing up there, on his own, silently confirming to everyone what a pathetic loser of a guy he is, is nothing short of mortifying.

A thought which had led him to his current situation.

He had asked Bucky over in order to vent – to basically rant about his predicament until a solution eventually presented itself, or until Bucky managed to think of a way to get him out of it completely. 

Bucky is Steve’s best friend, and had been so since they were kids. If there is one person on god’s green Earth who knows his way out of a pinch, Bucky is that person. So when Bucky had asked to see the invitation, Steve had given it to him without a moment’s hesitation, and now he’s eagerly awaiting the judgement. He doesn’t have to wait long. 

“It says here you can have a plus one,” Bucky says, holding the card up.

“I know,” Steve sighs bitterly. “It’s like the invitation is mocking me as well.”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he sits up higher. “No, you idiot,” he quips. “I mean it says you can  _ bring someone with you _ .” 

Steve looks at him, frowning. “And where do you suggest someone like  _ me  _ would find a date in just two and a half weeks?” he asks grumpily.  

“Oh, you’re right, let me think,” Bucky says, sounding sarcastic, before pointing a single finger at his own chest, making Steve’s frown deepen even further.

“You?” Steve asks, perplexed.

“Yes,  _ me, _ knucklehead.” Bucky snorts out a laugh at the nonplussed expression on Steve’s face before leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Listen, this whole ‘not showing up single’ thing is obviously important to you,” he says, growing serious. “I know Brock was a bit of a… Well, he was okay, I guess, but he wasn’t really considerate about what  _ you  _ thought. I don’t know why you’d wanna go out of your way to impress that douchebag, or why being single would be such a big deal… but if meeting him again really makes you feel that antsy, then fuck it, I’ll go with you.”

Steve closes his eyes, trying to make sense of the downright preposterous solution his friend is suggesting.

“So you’re saying that you’d be willing to pose as my  _ boyfriend? _ ” he asks, prying one eye open to look up at Bucky, who immediately responds by throwing his arms out.

“Why not?” he asks. “We already know each other well enough to pass as a couple. There’s no question they can ask about you that I can’t answer, and vise versa. Right?”

Steve raises a sceptical eyebrow. It’s true that Bucky has met both Wanda and Brock on several occasions in the past, his friendship with Steve making that an impossible thing to avoid. The two know who he is, and know that he and Steve are close, but that’s also sort of the problem.

“You do realize that we’ll be obligated to kiss each other at some point?” Steve points out carefully. “Like you said, they already know who you are, and there’s no way that they’ll ever believe that  _ you’ve _ agreed to some kind of pre-marital agreement of chastity.”

Bucky snorts out loud. “Excuse me, rude,” he huffs, feigning offence before growing serious again. “And why would kissing be such a problem anyway? I’ve got no problem with that.”

Steve bites his lower lip, his hesitation making Bucky sigh with exasperation.

“C’mon, Stevie,” he groans. “One kiss won’t hurt anyone.”

“I know,” Steve murmurs. “I just— I don’t want things to turn… weird.”

Bucky grins down at him, teeth gleaming white in the blue-ish glow from the muted T.V.

“Why, you got a problem about kissing me all of a sudden?” he asks cheekily. “You’ve done it once already, you know.”

“We were twelve, Bucky,” Steve grumbled. “And it was a bet.”

“We were  _ fourteen _ , and it was a  _ dare _ ,” Bucky corrects smugly. “Which you should know; your cousin’s the one who started it.”

“Whatever,” Steve snorts, but he can’t help but smile at the memory. To call the incident a kiss is a vast overstatement, but Steve supposes that it’s as good a word as any. Tony had tried to call Bucky out on his claim of being gay by daring him to kiss Steve on the lips, or admit that he was just using the label as an excuse to get attention. 

It had started as a joke, like most things do, but both Bucky and Tony had both been competitive enough not to back down, which had eventually resulted in Steve’s and Bucky’s so called ‘kiss’. Steve can still recall the dry touch of Bucky’s lips on his, a hard press that had ended almost as quickly as it had started. They might as well have called it “lip-pushing” rather than kissing. Bucky still claims that seeing the look on Tony’s face had been totally worth it.

“Alright, fine,” Steve says, admitting defeat, before adding warningly, “You can be my plus one, but  _ only _ if you promise to behave yourself. I don’t wanna be left to do the awkward explaining of your antics once the party’s over.”

“Whatever you say,  _ doll _ ,” Bucky grins, the cheeky tip of his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth, and Steve grimaces. 

“You’re  _ not  _ allowed to call me that,” he decides firmly, and Bucky’s eyebrows immediately knot together, his eyes pleading.

“Aw, but I’ll have to call you something,  _ sugar _ ,” he says mournfully, and Steve scrunches his nose, shaking his head.

“No one’s gonna buy that pet name,” he argues. “It doesn’t sound like a word you would use about anyone. Except perhaps someone you’re thinking about beating up.”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky waves him off, going back to ponder his options. “How about sweetheart?” he suggests eventually, and Steve purses his lip as he repeats the pet name inside his head. He begrudgingly has to admit that it does have a sort of ‘Bucky’ vibe to it.

“Yeah, I suppose that’d work,” Steve says, albeit reluctantly.

“Alright,” Bucky announces triumphantly, “Sweetheart it is then.  _ Sweetheart _ .” 

Steve slumps down as he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hands. “I can’t believe we’re actually having this conversation,” he complains, whining, although still smiling.

At that, Bucky’s own smile abruptly falters, and he bends his head down to fiddle with the card still in his hands. “We don’t  _ have _ to do it,” he says after a while. “I mean, I was just thinking—”

“No, Buck, that’s not—” Steve sighs, straightening back up. “I’m grateful for your help, really, I am. It’s just… I feel so pathetic about even having to  _ be  _ grateful in the first place, you know?”

Bucky nods, and Steve can see that he’s chewing on the inside of his left cheek in contemplation. It’s a bad habit of his, and a sure sign that he’s trying very hard to solve a problem of sorts. Seeing it makes Steve feel guilty beyond measure, and he swallows while rubbing his open palms against his knees. 

“We’ll need a story,” Bucky points out from his perch on the couch, and once again, Steve frowns in confusion.

“What story?” he asks. “They already know how we met each other. We’ve been friends since pre-school.”

“I meant a story of how we  _ got together _ ,” Bucky clarifies, sighing as he rolls his eyes. “People are gonna wanna know how we ended up a  _ couple _ .”

Steve shrugs, not really seeing the point of coming up with an elaborate lie for something like that. “Can’t we just tell them that we sort of… slowly grew closer?” he suggests hopefully.

“Nah,” Bucky says, grinning. “I prefer the story where you saw me get out of the shower one day and ended up falling head over heels in love with me.”

“I’ve seen you naked plenty of times,” Steve points out with an amused snort. “And you’re really giving yourself too much credit.”

“Ouch,” Bucky grimaces as he leans back in his seat. “Then what kind of story do you suggest? Because people  _ are  _ gonna ask, you know.”

Steve thinks about it while plucking absentmindedly at his sleeve. “Maybe it happened at that concert we went to?” he suggests slowly. “The one where my wallet got stolen and you had to sweet-talk the bouncer into letting me in without my ID?”

Bucky’s face lights up at the memory, fond recollection making his eyes shine. “Yeah, people would totally buy that,” he agrees. “And it wouldn’t be a complete lie either, since we actually ended up sharing a bed later on.”

“Because  _ someone  _ forgot to double check the details of the motel room before he booked it,” Steve reminds him pointedly. 

“Well, it was too cold to sleep in the car,” Bucky objects. “It was frickin October. And rainy.”

“The motel was nice, though,” Steve reminscines. “They had a nice breakfast buffet.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Bucky agrees dreamily. “I still have wet dreams about their scrambled eggs…”

“Perv,” Steve comments, gracefully ducking away when Bucky aims a playful slap towards his head.

“Alright, so we fell in love during a concert,” Bucky sums up. “And then we shared a night of fiery passion at the motel, had eggs and bacon the morning after, and that was it.”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod. “I guess it was.”

They fall silent for a while. Bucky stares at the still-muted television set on the other side of the room, and Steve notes that he’s still chewing on his cheek, looking concerned.

“You sure you’re okay with it?” Steve asks quietly. If Bucky’s uncomfortable with the whole thing but ends up doing it anyway just to be nice to him, Steve will never be able to live with the guilt. As he asks the question, Bucky seems to snap out of his musings, sending him an incredulous look.

“Of course I’m sure,” he says with a snort. “I wouldn't have offered myself up otherwise, you know that.”

Steve nods again, licking his lips slowly “Thank you,” he says. “I know I sound ungrateful, but I actually appreciate this a lot. To have you there with me will be… calming.”

Bucky smiles as he reaches out to toss the invitation onto the coffee table at the same time as he grabs his beer. “Hey, no worries,” he says cheerfully. “As long as I get free cake, I’m good.”

Steve smiles, shaking his head.

For some reason he has a feeling that come the big day, getting their hands on some cake will be the  _ least _ of their problems.

 

/\/\/\

 

“How can you  _ not  _ own a suit?” Steve mutters under his breath as Bucky parks the car outside the department store; sleek black paint and chrome details gleaming in the summer sun.

“Why the hell  _ would  _ I own a suit?” Bucky counters. “When’s the last time you saw me attending anything that needed anything fancier that a pair of jeans?”

“Prom,” Steve counters immediately. 

“Alright, that makes  _ one  _ time,” Bucky admits. “But those threads don't exactly fit me now, do they?”

“Which is why you should have bought new ones ages ago,” Steve argues. “Everyone needs a suit.”

“Maybe you do,” Bucky says with a snort as he gets out of the car, Steve following on the other side. “Unlike you, I don’t spend my days at a desk. Can you imagine what a suit would look like after a day with me back at the shop?”

“Vividly,” Steve says, wincing as he closes the passenger door with a bang, because true, a three-piece suit really doesn’t have a place at an auto repair shop.

They make their way inside the store, taking the escalator up to the second floor to the men’s department. A sales assistant is sorting shirts at the formal wear section when they enter, and as they approach, he looks up from his task, smiling widely.

“Hello, there,” he greets, straightening up. “What can I do for you today?”

“We’re looking for a suit,” Bucky says, gesturing to the plethora of jackets and shirts around them. “It’s been awhile since I last tried one on, so I’m probably gonna need a little help.”

“No problem at all,” the man says graciously. “What’s the occasion?” 

“A wedding,” Steve answers, already eyeing a dark grey suit displayed on one of the store mannequins. 

“Oh.” The man’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks between the two of them. “And who…? I mean, are you’re looking for something in… white, or…?”

He trails off, leaving the question hanging, and Steve feels his cheeks flush when the man’s insinuation hits home.

“We’re  _ attending _ the wedding,” he says, putting emphasis on ‘attending’ while forcefully swallowing down the squawk in his throat. “As guests.”

The clerk suddenly looks as if he just stepped on a landmine, and he quickly turns around, gesturing to a rack further down the aisle.

“Well, we do happen to have a sale on a selection of suits over here,” he says hurriedly, already moving. “They’re last year’s, but very popular. Slim fit, one hundred percent cotton. Breathes very nicely.” He fumbles with the clothes, glancing at Bucky.

“I believe these would be about your size,” he says, holding up a jacket and a pair of suit pants. “If you’d like to try them on, we have changing rooms over there in the corner, behind the tie rack.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, smiling widely as he takes the garments. The sales assistant smiles back, and then swallows hard as he sends Steve a quick glance from the corner of his eye.

“Well, I’ll be over by the register, should you need anything else,” he says. “Don’t hesitate to ask if there’s something I can do.”

He gives a final, strained smile, and then quickly hurries back the way he came, seemingly relieved to get away from the two of them as quickly as possible. Bucky, still grinning, turns to Steve, looking as if he’s just won the lottery.

“Did that guy just think you and I—”

“I believe so, yes,” Steve answers shortly, feeling his cheeks heat up as Bucky’s smile widens even further.

“I guess that means he thought we looked pretty good together, huh?” He jabs an elbow into Steve’s side. “The deception’s already working.”

Steve gives him a sour look, but Bucky doesn’t seem to find the gaze intimidating at all as he strides past, already heading for the changing rooms. Steve quietly follows, and while Bucky changes into the suit, he occupies himself with looking at the ties displayed on the rack outside.

“I’ve gotta say,” he hears Bucky mutter under his breath. “Dude’s gaydar isn't the only thing working for him; the guy’s got an eye for measurements too.”

Steve turns around when he hears the drapes pull aside behind him, almost dropping the tie he’s holding when Bucky steps out of the cubicle.

It’s ridiculous, really.  _ No one _ should be able to look that good in a suit. Especially not  _ Bucky _ , who favors torn jeans, old band t-shirts, and his leather jacket over everything else.

Steve quickly picks his jaw up from the floor when he sees the amused way Bucky’s looking at him, and he straightens up, shaking his head. “You can’t wear that,” he decides firmly, making Bucky’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Why not?” he asks, twisting around, looking at himself in the mirror. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re too handsome,” Steve confesses with a sigh. “No one’s going to believe that I’m dating you if you show up looking like you just stepped out of GQ.”

He expects Bucky to say something back; some snarky remark about how Steve should be grateful that he’ll get to take a stud like Bucky to the prom, but nothing comes. Instead, Bucky blinks at him and then slowly turns around to look at himself in the mirror again, his head tipping to the side as he studies his own reflection.

“You really think I’m handsome?” he says, running his hands down the sides of the jacket. Steve rolls his eyes as he steps up behind him, meeting Bucky’s grey eyes in the mirror.

“Let me put it this way,” he clarifies. “If you don’t buy that suit, I’ll buy it for you.”

The smile Bucky sends his way in return is so bright, it might as well have been mistaken for a solar flare.

They buy the suit along with a tie that Bucky snatches out of the tie rack for Steve on the way out. A blue one. (“It matches your eyes, you should totally get it!”) Steve already owns plenty of ties, but Bucky’s enthusiasm is not something to be taken lightly, so he succumbs to the nagging without a fight. 

Bucky, however, stubbornly refuses to buy a tie for himself. Steve barely manages to convince him that he should borrow one of Steve’s own for the big day, because he  _ can’t  _ show up to a formal wedding without a tie. Bucky grumbles something under his breath that Steve doesn’t really catch, but he’s pretty sure he hears the word ‘noose’ in there somewhere as the assistant stows their purchases into a garment bag.

Once their attire has been taken care of, it’s time to deal with the second problem of the day: finding a wedding gift.

They browse the entire store for possible candidates, but it’s not easy. Bucky finds every one of Steve’s hesitant suggestions awkward or lame, demonstrating his opinions with everything from discrete grimaces to making noises like he’s about to puke.

“I don’t get why you’re asking  _ me _ about this, I don’t even know them that well,” Bucky whines as he frowns down at a big glass bowl shaped like an owl. “How come we’re not just buying them something they registered for?”

“There was nothing left on the list,” Steve defends himself. “Everything’s been taken already. Guess they have a lot of friends.”

“Yeah…” Bucky says with a sigh. “I mean, I haven’t seen Wanda since high school, and even then we barely spoke, but she was pretty popular alright.”

“I admit, I’ve not been very good at keeping in touch with her either,” Steve mutters. He plucks at a set of tea cups off a nearby shelf, holding one of them up for Bucky to inspect. Bucky purses his lips, then shakes his head resolutely.

“Do they even drink tea?” he asks, and Steve shrugs, putting the cup back.

“Wanda probably does,” he said. “I think she even worked extra at a café downtown for a while, before she moved away.”

“Booooring,” Bucky declares. “Going by that description, I sure hope the wedding won’t turn out to be some kind of pink, doily-ridden nightmare.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Steve smiles. “My suspicion is that Wanda hasn’t owned anything pink in her entire life.”

“Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with pink,” Bucky argues. “All I know is that if someone suggested pink as a theme for  _ my  _ wedding, I’d boot them out my door, head first.” 

Steve snorts out a laugh. “ _ Your _ wedding?” he asks. “You think about things like that?”

“What, a guy’s not allowed to think about weddings all of a sudden?” Bucky defends himself. “It’s not like the girls have exclusive rights.”

“Of course not,” Steve agrees. He chuckles, looking his friend up and down curiously. “So tell me, what  _ would  _ your wedding be like?”

“Well, first off,” Bucky says, turning a heavy-looking candlestick over in his hands. “I’d have it at home. I ain’t paying a fortune just to say ‘I do’ in some old drafty church somewhere. The guest list would be short. Like, maybe, ten, fifteen people, tops. We’d have a barbecue, family style… I guess there’d be cake,” he adds, contemplatively. “With chocolate filling; I’m not getting married without chocolate. And no one would have to wear a suit.”

“Not even you?” Steve asks, eyebrow rising.

“Jeans and a t-shirt,” Bucky proclaims proudly. 

“That’s a shame,” Steve says. “Since you just bought one.”

“Alright, I’ll wear a proper shirt then,” Bucky compromises. “And maybe the suit jacket, but I’m keeping my jeans.”

Steve smiles, imagining the scene before him, with Bucky taking center stage in some sort of haphazard outfit that looks absolutely horrid. He finds himself mourning Bucky’s blatant rejection of the new suit, although, when he thinks about it, he can’t exactly pinpoint why.

“What are you smiling at?” Bucky asks while crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. “Are you  _ laughing  _ at my wedding plans?”

“No, no it’s nothing,” Steve assures him quickly. “Your wedding sounds… lovely. I’ll be happy to attend it when the day comes.”

“You better,” Bucky mutters, his eyes dropping to the floor. Steve snickers as he turns back around to look up at the shelf of items before him.

“I’m sure your reception will be a lot nicer than the one we’re going to next week…” he sighs mournfully.

“Well, according to you, at least it’s not going to be pink,” Bucky comforts him. “And maybe this dude she’s marrying will keep a lid on the doilies for us?”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Steve agrees. There is some sort of glass pitcher sitting higher up on the shelf, but neither he, nor Bucky, is tall enough to reach it. Perhaps they should ask someone working at the store to take it down for them?

“What’s he like, by the way?” Bucky suddenly asks, and Steve turns to him with his brow creased in surprise.

“Who, Jarvis?” he asks. “He’s… different. Very librarian-professor-esque. I think he’s British, but I don’t remember exactly.”

“With a name like  _ Jarvis _ , how can he not be?” Bucky says with an amused chuckle. “Not exactly a jock, huh?” 

“No, far from it,” Steve replies. “Though, I think he used to play football or something. Or soccer.”

“Sounds British alright,” Bucky agrees. “Admittedly, not the type I imagined for Wanda. I always pictured her hooking up with someone tougher. You know, leather jacket, a bit of attitude, maybe a bike?”

“A douchebag, you mean?” Steve counters with a snort.

“Didn’t say douchebag,” Bucky argues. Then he grins. “What, you don’t like fellas like that? Who takes charge every once in awhile?”

“I like guys who know what they want,” Steve defends himself pointedly. “But I don’t like the kind who think they can take something simply  _ because  _ they want it. There’s a difference.”

Bucky licks his lips and nods, silently agreeing. For a moment he looks as if he’s about to say something else, but then he turns away, eyeing the shelf behind them.

“Hey, what about this thing?” He points at a big, table-top grill sort of appliance, situated in the middle of an outdoor display less than five feet away from where they’re standing. 

“What is it?” Steve asks, stepping closer.

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “But it looks pretty cool.”

They locate the shelf containing the boxed up contraptions, and after some hushed deliberation and careful examination of the packaging, they conclude that it’s called a ‘raclette grill’. As far as Steve understands it, it involves melted cheese and potatoes, and that you basically use the grill to cook the servings gradually while you eat. 

“Well, it’s the best thing we’ve found so far,” Bucky decides. “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think we’ll find anything better.”

“I guess not…” Steve murmurs. He sighs, turning the box over to look at it once more. “At least we’ll be unique.”

“Don’t sweat it. As long as the box is big, people will assume it’s expensive.”

“We’ll keep the receipt,” Steve decides. “So they can trade it in if they already have one or… something.”

“Steve,” Bucky says flatly, sending him a long look. “If these people already have one of these monsters at home, I’ll giftwrap them my goddamn  _ car _ .”

 

/\/\/\

 

Two days before the wedding, Bucky comes over to Steve’s apartment for dinner.

It’s not something out of the ordinary. Bucky often comes over to eat pizza, share a few beers, and then stays the night on Steve’s couch, but this time, Steve can’t help but feel nervous and fidgety about it. 

On Saturday, the two of them will be attempting to pose as a  _ couple _ . To trick a bunch of people they haven’t seen in years, just because Steve is too much of a coward to face the music by himself.

Bucky is talking about the whole thing as if it’s going to be the party of the century. He doesn’t appear the slightest bit nervous at all, and for some reason, that only serves to make Steve even more anxious.

“Bucky, please,” he says, sending the other man a glare from his end of the couch. “Would it hurt you to at least  _ try  _ to take this seriously?”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky grins, eyes twinkling as the newly adopted pet name for Steve rolls of his tongue. “Just relax. It’s gonna be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve mutters, but Bucky only snorts as he takes another drink from his bottle of beer.

“Yes, I do,” he says confidently. “C’mon, think about it; is there  _ any _ question _ anyone  _ at that party could ask you about me that you wouldn’t know the answer to?”

Steve glares at him, but his mind immediately begins to page through the information he already knows – and consequently  _ doesn’t  _ know – about his best friend. The results undoubtedly tip in Bucky’s favor.

“See?” Bucky says with a smirk when Steve remains quiet. “You know everything already. I know everything there is to know about you too, so there’s really no need to worry.”

“You can’t possibly know  _ everything  _ about me,” Steve objects. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky says, cockily leaning forward. “Try me.”

Steve licks his lips as he meets Bucky’s eye with a defiant glower. “How do I take my coffee?” he asks defiantly.

“Black,” Bucky answers immediately. “And you also don’t like sugar in general, which leaves more sweets for me,” he adds, eyebrows wiggling.

“What’s my biggest pet peeve?”

“When people ask you a question, but won’t wait for you to answer it before they start talking again. And people cutting into line. I think it’s a tie.”

“How many cousins do I have?” Steve counters, narrowing his eyes at him.

“One. Tony. He’s five years older than you, and at least five inches taller. And a lot less attractive.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, struggling to keep his poker face in check while he tries to think of another question. Something that Bucky can’t  _ possibly _ know… 

“Who was my first kiss?”

Bucky frowns, his smirk dying. “I—” He cuts himself off, suddenly looking at Steve as if he’s betrayed him. “Wait, you’re saying it wasn’t me?”

“I  _ had _ kissed someone else before you and Tony decided to establish dominance over each other through me, yes,” Steve admits. 

“Wow,” Bucky brings his hand up to clutch at his chest in mock-disbelief, still staring. “Man, I feel so betrayed right now. My whole life’s been a lie.”

“Spare me,” Steve huffs, his serious face crumbling slightly under Bucky’s incredulous berating. “Do you know the answer or not?”

“Well, obviously I  _ don’t _ ,” Bucky retorts. “Who was it? Someone I know?”

Steve shifts in his seat, looking down at his hands before glancing up again. “You remember Lorraine? From summer camp?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“No way,” he says. “You and  _ Lorraine? _ When?”

“It’s nothing to get excited about,” Steve says with a dismissive roll of his eyes. “We were just kids. She made a pillow fort together with some other girls, and if you wanted to get inside, she demanded that you kiss her. It was probably meant as a way to keep the boys out, but…”

“But you decided not to get deterred by her tactics?” Bucky asks, eyebrow raised.

“I wanted to talk to Peggy,” Steve shrugs. “She had borrowed a set of pens from me; I wanted them back, and she tried to hide in the fort. There wasn’t much more to it.”

Bucky snickers, shaking his head slowly. “Wow, and here I thought you were a proper little Casanova or something.”

“Not exactly,” Steve says with a smile. “If anything, kissing Lorraine sort of became this… milestone in my life. A reference point of sorts. Had I not done that, it’s possible that coming to terms with not being interested in girls at all would have taken much longer.”

“So Lorraine Masters turned you gay, is that what you’re saying?” Bucky asks while looking as if he’s barely keeping himself from laughing out loud.

“In a way,” Steve agrees, unable to stop himself from grinning. “I doubt she’d be flattered to hear it put like that, though.”

At that, Bucky tips his head back and barks out a laugh to the ceiling before flopping backwards to sprawl out on the couch. Steve picks up his own beer bottle and drinks, glancing over at Bucky.

“So what about you?” he asks. “Who was your first kiss?”

Bucky blinks, and then to Steve’s surprise, he looks away.

“What?” Steve asks, catching on to the other’s reluctance, and in turn Bucky’s gaze immediately flickers back to him.

“Fuck, you just had to ask, didn’t you?” Bucky mumbles while dragging his hand over his mouth and then up over his eyes.

Steve frowns, but then Bucky sits up again, sending him a quick glance from the corner of his eye. “It was you,” he confesses, words coming out fast and rushed. “That one time with the bet, it was… That was my first kiss.”

Steve’s mouth falls open. “Your—” He cuts himself off, the thought sounding too preposterous to even say out loud. “No, that can’t— That’s not possible.”

“It was,” Bucky deadpans. “I know people think I walked around canoodling my way through the entire playground as a kid, but I didn’t. I just talked a big game.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Jesus, he never would have guessed—   

“I didn’t know that,” he says eventually, and Bucky snorts.

“That’s because I’ve never told anyone,” he admits while fiddling with his beer bottle. “Alright? I just assumed that it was— That it was the same for you, the whole being first thing. Apparently, I jumped the gun on that one…”

Steve swallows, suddenly feeling ridiculously guilty. “You  _ were  _ my first, in a way,” he offers quietly. “The first boy I ever kissed. And believe it or not, that kiss has always been more important to me than some half-hearted bribe that lasted half a second outside a pillow fort when I was ten.”

Bucky snorts, and Steve sees the corner of his lip quirk up a little.

“Well, I guess that’s always something,” Bucky says, sitting back up to look at him. “Even if it sucks to be Lorraine’s sloppy second.”

Steve shoves him hard on the shoulder. “Choice of words, please,” he scolds, his serious mask faltering at the mischievous grin Bucky sends him in return.

“You’re such a prude.” Bucky rolls his eyes at him. “I swear, sometimes I forget that you’ve even had sex.”

“I’m not a prude,” Steve objects. “I just don’t think what I do in the bedroom is anyone else’s business. Unlike  _ some _ ,” he adds with a pointed look in Bucky’s direction.

“What?” Bucky says innocently. “I haven’t talked about my sex life in ages!”

“That’s only because you haven’t  _ had  _ a sex life in ages,” Steve reminds him.

“Excuse you.” Bucky attempt to glare at him, but then he sighs, slumping back against the couch. “Sadly, you’re not wrong. Things have been sort of stale lately…”

“I thought you had a thing going with the new guy down at the grill?” Steve asks, surprised. “Sam, or whatever his name was?”

“Yeah, that didn’t really work out,” Bucky grunts. “I mean he’s hot and all, and kind of funny, and sort of nice, but… I don’t know, there’s just something missing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Steve offers, but Bucky waves him off.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he says. “You’re not responsible for my relationships. Besides,” he adds, that suggestive eyebrow wiggle returning. “I’ve got a boyfriend now.”

Steve’s only response to that is to take another deep swig of his beer, demonstratively turning his back as if he has absolutely no idea what Bucky’s talking about. The action only serves to get him tackled hard from behind the very second he puts his beer back down onto the table.

It’s not a fair move, not in the slightest. Steve is a scrawny guy. He’s five-foot-four, ninety-five scrawny pounds of sarcasm and brazen vocabulary, against Bucky’s five-foot-ten, and the one-hundred-and-seventy pounds of muscles that won him the high school boxing championship. Even if Bucky hadn’t possessed fighting techniques better than Steve’s own – the indisputable advantage of being an older brother, no doubt – the difference in their body types alone would have been more than enough to place Bucky as the winner anyway.

It only takes a few seconds of wrestling before Steve finds himself on his back, half his body dangling over the edge of the couch while Bucky straddles his waist, triumphantly pinning Steve’s arms over his head.

“My win, Stevie,” Bucky beams while tightening his grip around Steve’s slender wrists. “Do ya admit defeat?”

“Never,” Steve growls. He bucks his hips once, hard, using gravity to help dislodge Bucky. Then, he rapidly twists his entire body to the side and sends Bucky toppling down onto the floor with Steve himself following closely after.

The coffee table wobbles as they tumble into one of its legs, shoving the entire table at least a foot across the floor, beer bottles wobbling ominously. Steve tears his hands out of Bucky’s grip, quickly taking advantage of Bucky’s temporary disorientation to reverse the hold, and uses it to restrain him by securing both of Bucky’s hands on either side of his head.

“You give?” he grits, panting hard as he pinches his knees around Bucky’s ribcage to make sure Bucky won’t be able to use Steve’s own trick against him to throw him off.

“You’re gonna have to make me,” Bucky hisses back confidently, but then he stills, seemingly freezing mid-struggle when he sees the smirk that slowly creeps over Steve’s lips at the reply.

“Are you sure that’s what you want me to do?” Steve asks sweetly, and Bucky’s eyes widens.

“No,” he says, voice cracking with panic. “No, no, Steve, don’t—”

Steve’s hands shoot down, digging hard into Bucky’s armpits, and Bucky’s stammering defence immediately rises into a choked-out howl of laughter. He instinctively tries to shield himself from the attack by bringing his arms in against his sides, but it doesn’t do much to help, only trapping Steve’s hands in place even harder. 

Steve is ruthless, his fingers playing along the sides of Bucky’s ribs like they’re working the keys of an accordion, while Bucky twists and writhes beneath him on the floor, gasping out broken sentences between helpless peals of laughter.

“Do you give?” Steve demands as he drops his right hand down to squeeze around the side of Bucky’s stomach, making the other man’s back arch right off the floor.

“I give!” Bucky wails, tugging desperately at Steve’s forearm. “I gi—Fuck, I  _ give! _ ”

Steve sits up, ending the assault, and Bucky slumps back down, dragging deep ragged breaths into his lungs.

“Goddamn cheater,” he pants, coughing out a groan. “You know I hate it when you do that…!”

“It’s the only advantage I’ve got,” Steve defends himself as he climbs off Bucky’s legs to lean his back against the side of the couch. 

“It’s still cheating,” Bucky grumbles while giving Steve’s shin a shallow kick with his foot.

“Watch it,” Steve warns, kicking back. “Or you can sleep in your car tonight.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, chuckling under his breath. “I think I prefer my standing reservation on your couch.”

Steve closes his eyes as his head lolls back against the couch with a low thud, his body going lax. He smiles. 

“Good choice.”

 

/\/\/\

 

They get Bucky’s usual spare sheets and duvet out from Steve’s closet two hours later. Technically, they’re more-or-less Bucky’s own by now, seeing as he’s the only one who ever spends the night at Steve’s place nowadays. 

Steve’s apartment isn’t big. Two rooms, a kitchen, a tiny bathroom along with a balcony is about as good as it gets, but it’s still nice to have someone to share it with from time to time.

Bucky and Steve take turns brushing their teeth in the bathroom, and after having made sure Bucky has everything he needs, Steve says good night and makes his way to his own bedroom.

He realizes pretty quickly that he won’t be able to fall asleep. His thoughts constantly wander towards the upcoming wedding, and the many, most likely painfully awkward interactions he will be forced to face once there.

For the millionth time in less than two weeks he asks himself why the hell he’s doing this. And to drag Bucky into it as well… Seriously, he feels like the worst friend in the history of mankind. God, if only he wasn’t so  _ pathetic _ …  

He thinks about Brock, also for the millionth time lately. Brock, who surely will show up at the wedding with some young, disgustingly sexy date latched to his arm… Not to make anyone jealous, or to flaunt the fact that he can, but just because it’s so  _ like _ him. It makes Steve feel like the biggest loser on the planet, and has him feeling even more acutely aware of how painfully single he himself currently is.

If people knew how much time Steve has spent pondering the outcome of this wedding, they’d probably think that he still had  _ feelings _ for the guy.

He doesn’t. In fact, he’s fairly sure that his affection for Brock had disappeared even long before they’d even broken up. No, Steve has no romantic feelings left towards him – or sexual ones, for that matter.

So why is it so important not to show up at the wedding alone?

He isn’t even sure himself. All he knows is that the mere thought of going to the wedding unaccompanied cripples his entire body with anxiety. For him, to attend a wedding without a plus one is like the ultimate sign of being undatable. He knows that the offer of a plus one doesn’t exclusively mean that you have to bring an actual  _ date _ , of course he does, and there  _ are  _ worse things than showing up at a wedding date-less, but still…  

Sighing heavily, he rolls over on his side to bury a moan of frustration into his pillow. He can hear the muffled sound of the T.V. through the wall, and he wonders if perhaps Bucky is having trouble sleeping as well. If Bucky is thinking about this as much as he is?

Bucky has repeatedly told him that he doesn’t mind doing this, and Steve is immensely grateful for that. Even though he still feels guilty about making Bucky pose as his boyfriend, he can’t deny the relief he feels when thinking about having his best friend there with him. Bucky will be his safety net, and he won’t leave Steve hanging should things turn bad. 

The only problem will be if anyone begins to question the claim that he and Bucky are  _ actually _ dating. 

Bucky had been Steve’s friend even before he met Brock, whom Steve had met through Wanda, whom he in turn had known since kindergarden. The two of them know that Steve and Bucky are just friends, and that they have never been even remotely romantically involved with each other before. There is a huge risk that Wanda or Brock, or indeed both of them, will realize that the alleged relationship is nothing but fake.

But why would they even question it to begin with? People can fall in love with their best friends. It’s not as if that’s never happened before. Then again, Steve thinks bitterly, he can’t exactly deny the fact that Bucky is  _ so miserably  _ out of Steve’s league…  

Bucky has a great sense of humor, is kind, generous, and caring… Not to mention that he’s pretty damn good looking. Not that Brock hadn't been a looker, but for Steve to be that lucky  _ twice? _ Dammit, no one is going to believe that someone like Bucky would ever date someone like  _ him _ , who is he kidding?!

Just think, the day after tomorrow they will be trying to convince an entire congregation consisting of their old acquaintances that the two of them are a couple…

Shit. He can’t believe that he’s actually going to do this.

He can’t believe that Bucky is okay with  _ letting  _ him do this…!

What if they actually have to kiss each other? 

Steve had thrown the possibility out earlier just to make Bucky realize what he was suggesting, but the idea hadn’t seemed to faze the other man the slightest. 

A hastily-formed image of Bucky pressing his lips against Steve’s sears through Steve’s head, and he resolutely closes his eyes.

It’s not like he would  _ mind  _ kissing Bucky. He’s fairly sure that Bucky has gotten better at kissing since they were kids, but… the thought just makes him feel… strange.

He rolls over to lie fully on his stomach, glaring at the digits of his alarm clock through the darkness before turning his head away and resolutely folding his arms underneath his head. He stays there until he hears Bucky switch off the T.V. in the other room. The springs of the couch creak audibly as the other man settles down underneath the borrowed covers, and in the dark of the now-silent apartment, Steve eventually manages to fall into a shallow, dreamless, sleep. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> I know I've been bad at answering them lately, and its highly unlikely that I'll be able to catch up on all the comments I've recieved in the past months, but things are looking up; the move is complete, I've settled in, and things are looking up on the online-front. Life is getting better :) 
> 
> As usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I do my best to respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	2. You may now Kiss the Date

On the morning of the wedding, Bucky pulls his black vintage Mustang up to the sidewalk outside of Steve’s apartment at precisely 10 AM. 

Steve is flattered to see that the sleek, black car has been washed sparkly clean, and if he’s not mistaken, he would say that Bucky has put a genuine effort into polishing his precious vehicle for the occasion as well.

Bucky looks just as ridiculously good in his suit as he had back at the department store; white shirt and black suit jacket in place. He’s not wearing a tie yet, though, because Steve still has that packed into his travel bag. 

They’re staying the night at a hotel close to where the wedding venue will be held, simply because they suspect that neither of them will be particularly fit to drive back home once the reception is over. Steve has made sure that they’ll get two single beds this time around, and he’s also made sure to tell Bucky that he’s done so, just to point out that at least  _ one of them _ knows how booking hotel rooms work. 

Steve quickly unpacks the tie he picked out for Bucky earlier – a blue silver-striped one – and Bucky puts it on, huffing about how silly he feels. Steve can’t help but notice how even though he claims not to like wearing them, Bucky obviously knows how to tie one well enough to make it perfect on the first try. 

Damn, with the tie on, Bucky suddenly looks even more handsome than before. Clean-cut and sophisticated, as if the entire outfit has been molded onto his body. Drool-worthy. The sight has Steve glancing down at his own light grey suit; as tailored as it might be, still nowhere near as pleasing to the eye as Bucky’s. Would they really pass as a couple looking like this? Perhaps lending Bucky a tie had been a mistake after all…? 

Once Bucky’s got the tie on, they throw Steve’s duffle into the back seat to join Bucky’s backpack, and get on their way. It’s a bright sunny day, late August, blue sky. Bucky’s playing rock music while they drive, happily humming along with the lyrics, yet Steve still can’t bring himself to relax. 

Anxiety wrestles with his nerves the entire hour-and-a-half drive to New Haven, making him feel close to nauseous. He’s fidgety, and he constantly keeps straightening his tie and adjusting his cufflinks until Bucky finally swats his hands away, telling him to stop.

The address of the church had been written on the invitation, and using the GPS on Steve’s phone, they eventually reach their destination, safe and sound. There are other cars already taking up space around the parking lot, and there are people gathered in little groups in the churchyard, talking and laughing.

At the sight of them, Steve feels his gut tighten, and he swallows hard in his seat. He fiddles with his phone, setting it to flight mode. The last thing he wants is for the damn thing to start ringing in the middle of the ceremony. The humiliation would probably kill him.

“Hey.”

Steve whips his head around towards Bucky, who’s looking at him with his brow furled with worry. 

“You feeling alright?” Bucky asks quietly. “Or are you having second thoughts?”

Steve takes a deep breath, and wills himself to calm down.

“No, I’m… I’m fine,” he promises. “Just nervous, I guess.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, tapping his fingers lightly against the wheel before carefully clearing his throat. “So… Are we still doing this? Last chance to back out, pal.”

Steve hesitates. Are they really doing this?

He licks across his dry bottom lip while glancing over at Bucky again, who’s looking at him with soft, earnest eyes. Calm and confident.

“Yes,” he decides. “Yeah, we’re doing this…”

“Alright,” Bucky agrees quietly, and the corner of his lip moves up in a reassuring smile. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

They get out of the car, and as Steve walks around to meet up with Bucky on the driver’s side, Bucky steps out in front of him, halting him.

“Hold still,” he orders softly. 

Steve obliges, allowing Bucky to reach out and straighten his tie one final time. When he’s done, Bucky gives him a quick, supportive pat on the shoulder, before confidently tucking his hand around Steve’s lower back. Then he fires off a wide, dazzling smile that makes Steve’s anxiety curl up and cower inside his chest.

“So, sweetheart,” Bucky smirks, looking Steve up and down with a flirtatious quirk of his eyebrow. “Shall we?”

Bucky keeps his hand steadily wrapped around Steve’s hip as he guides him up the path to the big double doors of the church. Steve doesn’t recognize any of the people they pass, but going by the disconcerted looks they give Bucky’s hand around Steve’s waist, he suspects that they're not that used to seeing queer people out in public.

Wanda would never marry a homophobe, seeing as her own step-brother is the most flamboyant Muscle Mary on the northern hemisphere, but there are never guarantees that the rest of Jarvis’ family will be as accepting as she is. 

The thought suddenly has Steve even more grateful for the fact that he hadn’t been forced to endure this day alone, and he relishes in the warming sense of security that seeps into his skin from underneath the firm weight of Bucky’s hand.

Once inside the church, the number of familiar faces increases somewhat. Steve recognizes a few of Wanda’s friends from high school. Clint and Natasha being two, along with Bruce and Thor, who Steve had hung out with during his school days from time to time, along with a few others. Some of them nod silent greetings towards him when they spot him, and Steve returns them politely, mouthing mute  _ hi’s _ and  _ hello’s _ over the casual murmur rising from the occupied benches. They manage to find an empty bench on the left side of the aisle – the bride’s side – and quietly seat themselves.

“See,” Bucky whispers, elbowing Steve playfully in the side once they’ve settled into their seats. “The worst part is practically over already.”

“Somehow I find that very hard to believe,” Steve mutters sourly.

“Steve?”

Steve’s head shoots up when he hears his name being spoken, meeting the gaze of the man who’s stopped dead in his tracks down the aisle next to their bench, and who’s now staring at Steve with a wide surprised stare.

“It is Steve, isn’t it?” he repeats, blue eyes seeking out Steve’s own. For a moment Steve is taken aback, completely at a loss as to who this person is, and why he apparently knows Steve’s name. Then something in the back of his mind clicks, and realisation hits. 

“Pietro?” he asks, and the young man’s face cracks open in a huge smile. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you,” Steve excuses himself, gaping wide. “God, you’ve gotten tall!” 

On his left, Bucky looks in between the two of them, eyebrows arched in awe.

“Hold on,” he says, pointing at the kid. “Pietro? Wanda’s brother?”

“One and the same,” Pietro says with a grin, and ignoring their gaping faces, he graciously slides into the seat in front of theirs to peer at them from over the back of the bench. 

“I thought you were in Europe,” Steve says, still in shock. 

“I am,” Pietro replies. “Well, not right now, but I was last night.”

“You must run fast,” Bucky points out flatly, making Pietro’s eyes narrow in an amused squint.

“When I have to,” he replies, before tilting his head slightly to the side. “I remember your bad sense of humour, but I seem to have forgotten your name.”

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky introduces himself, offering Pietro his hand, who shakes it over the back of his bench. “And I'm not surprised. The last time I saw you, you barely reached my shoulders.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” Bucky agrees modestly. “Though I’d probably be better off if I hadn’t grown any further. Crawling in a grease pit is a lot easier when you don’t have to crouch.”

“You work with cars?” Steve asks, curiously.

“I’m a mechanic,” Pietro explains. “Not the best, perhaps, but good enough. Lots of truckers coming through my town this time of year, and they’re always looking for qualified repairmen.”

“So it’s all eighteen wheelers, huh?” Bucky leans forward, suddenly interested. “You don’t do normal-sized cars at all?”

“Well, when I was still back in school, I did,” Pietro says with a shrug. “But I like trucks better. I think they’re cooler.”

“Bucky’s a mechanic too, back in Brooklyn,” Steve cuts in, before Pietro has the misfortune of uttering anything belittling about a ‘72 Mustang Mach 1.

“Really?” Pietro lights up, turning towards Bucky with a smile. “You get a lot of jobs there?”

“Enough,” Bucky admits modestly. “We can’t fit trucks into our shop, but we make due with what we get.”

“Yeah, business is always tough,” Pietro agrees. His eyes dart in between the two of them. “So…” he says slowly. “Are you two staying for the reception later?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “Wanda wanted me— I mean us, to be there. For old time’s sake.”

Pietro nods, and his gaze flickers to the side before looking back up at Steve.

“Have you seen Brock yet?” he asks quietly. Steve stiffens.

“Not yet, no,” he answers, trying his best to not sound too evasive.

“He’s right over there if you're looking for him,” Pietro reveals, nodding his head towards the front row of the church, and Steve’s stomach draws in tight as he spots the glimpse of a familiar head in between the other guests’. Brock looks just as Steve remembered him: dark hair, sharp jawline, and a confident smirk resting on his lips.

He feels Bucky’s hand find the top of his knee, giving it an encouraging little squeeze. The touch enables him to muster the strength needed to act unaffected as he turns his gaze away from his former boyfriend.

On the other side of the backrest, Pietro gives him a sympathetic glance.

“Does he know you’re here?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Steve answers truthfully. “I assume he does, but… Well, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Why not?” Pietro asks, looking confused. Steve sends Bucky a sideward glance from the corner of his eye. Pietro follows his gaze to look at Bucky, who in turn straightens up with a confident smile when the man’s eyes fall onto the hand still resting on top of Steve’s thigh.

“Ah,” Pietro says, closing his eyes with a  hiss of recognition. “Sorry,” he apologises. “That was incredibly dumb and unobservant of me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky says with a smile. “Easy mistake.”

Pietro opens his mouth with a smile, as if he’s about to retort, but then the church organ starts playing somewhere far above their heads, and the rest of the guests abruptly rise all around them.

With one last smile, Pietro gets up from his seat to discreetly move to the front row, and Steve and Bucky stand up as well as the ceremony begins.

The wedding is beautiful. Wanda is radiating joy and feminine beauty as she steps through the church doors, all in white with that golden brown hair Steve remembers so well, flowing over her shoulders in large, shiny curls.

Jarvis, who’s been standing at the front of the church, has up until that point appeared close to indifferent to the fact that he’s about to get married. The very moment he spots Wanda walking down the aisle towards him, however, the stern mask he’d been wearing gets completely ruined by the emotional glaze appearing in his eyes, along with the tight clenching and unclenching of his jaw.

“Looks like we might have to look out for those doilies yet,” Bucky whispers quietly into Steve’s ear, and Steve has to bend his head down to keep himself from snorting out a loud laugh.

At one point during the ceremony, Steve accidentally makes eye contact with Brock, whom he is pretty sure had not intended to look at him at all. It’s three, horrifyingly awkward seconds that causes a cold sweat to break out over the back of Steve’s neck. Then Bucky is there, leaning in to murmur something Steve can’t quite make out against his ear, and Brock looks away as if he too realizes that he’s been caught staring.

It’s a conflicting moment. On one side, Steve doesn’t want to feel as if Brock looking at him is that big of a big deal, but it is. Not because Steve in any way wants to have Brock’s romantic attention, that’s not the point. He’s just wants to get some sort of recognition that the situation is making Brock feel uncomfortable as well. 

He doesn’t want a conflict or confrontation, or even an interaction with him; he just wants confirmation that seeing Steve here makes Brock feel nervous. Makes him feel  _ anything _ . It’s selfish, and a massive stroke to Steve’s ego, but he just can’t help himself. Does that make him shallow? Does it make him less of a person to indulge in such guilty pleasures? He really hopes not… 

The rest of the wedding goes well. Rings are exchanged, and when Wanda reads her wedding vows, a silent tear of stoic manliness rolls down the side of Jarvis’ cheek. There is a collective, emotional murmur from the guests when the couple kiss, and before Steve has the chance to even think about it, the wedding is over as the newlyweds stride out of the church, followed closely by their entourage. 

Steve and Bucky waits until most of the other guests have already left their seats before heading outside. Wanda and Jarvis are being showered by confetti and well wishes by their friends and families, but despite the cheer and smiles, Steve can’t help but note that Brock is nowhere to be seen.

Just as well, he thinks to himself. His anxiety has dropped considerably since their silent moment of recognition inside the church; the fact that Brock had been the one to turn away first oddly comforting. For some reason the prospects of facing him now only feels like a minor inconvenience rather than the frightening horror it had before. Who knows, he just might be able to make it out alive this evening.

 

/\/\/\

 

The reception is held at a nearby hotel. Not the one Steve and Bucky have booked, because the rooms here are way out of their price range, and both Steve and Bucky are relieved to see that there is not a single doily in sight when they step inside the place.

The venue’s decorations are in blue and white. There are round tables, seating six guests each, spread out across the room with the square main table laid out against the short wall, crowned by a flower arch of white roses at the centre.

They had stopped on the way over to leave their bags at their own hotel, so when they arrive, the bride and groom are already in the process of individually greeting their guests, who are all standing in line to greet them hand and leave any gifts on a nearby table. 

Steve and Bucky follow with the crowd, taking place in the back of the line with their own gift. Steve had insisted that they get the gift wrapped at the store where they bought it; a decision he’s now, after having seen the others’ fancy presents, immensely grateful for.

“Well,” he says, eyeing the front of the queue warily. “Our gift is without a doubt the biggest box yet.”

Bucky leans around him to look at the table up ahead where the other gifts have been placed, and snorts.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says while tapping his knuckle against the box in Steve’s arms. “Once they open this baby up, the size of the wrapping won’t matter.”

“I’m honestly not sure if that’s you trying to comfort me, or if it’s supposed to be one of your usual, sexual euphemisms,” Steve mutters under his breath.

“Why not both?” Bucky asks teasingly, and Steve decides that it would probably be better if he doesn’t answer that.

Once they reach the front of the line, Wanda spots them before the person ahead even finishes shaking Jarvis’ hand. As her gaze fall on Steve, her eyes widens and she throws herself around his neck with a delighted little shriek, nearly toppling them both over.

“You made it!” she exclaims happily. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you, it’s been so long! How have you been?”

“Hi, Wanda,” Steve says. He smiles, carefully twisting around to hold the gift out of the way while he returns the enthusiastic hug. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she says, blushing sweetly as she pulls back to study him closer. “And you’re awfully handsome too, just look at you.”

“I try,” Steve admits modestly. He holds up the gift, and Wanda accepts it with an impressed arch of her eyebrows.

“We might have to clear the table to make room for this one,” she laughs over her shoulder, carefully moving to set the box down on the floor underneath the table. Behind her, Jarvis turns away from the guest he’d been speaking with to smile fondly at the box in his wife’s hands, before looking up at Bucky and Steve.

“Hello,” he says, reaching his hand out to shake theirs. “Welcome. I take it from Wanda’s reaction that you’re from Brooklyn too?”

“That we are,” Bucky confirms, shaking the other man’s hand. “Bucky Barnes. The guy with the big package there is Steve.” He points his thumb at Steve, who sends an indignant glower his way at the innuendo. “We went to school together with Wanda, long ago,” Bucky continues while graciously ignoring the look. “Steve knew her better than I did, though.”

“Bucky?” Wanda says, turning back around to look at him properly. “Oh, my god, I didn’t even realize it was you! How are you?”

“I’m good,” Bucky smiles, happily wrapping his arms around her as she goes in for another hug. “Just glad to be here.”

Wanda blinks, and then she looks between the two of them, most likely realizing that only one of their names is written on the guest list.

“That’s right, you weren’t—” She cuts herself off, pointing at them. “Does that mean that you two are—?”

“I’m with him, yeah,” Bucky says with a nod, and once again, Steve feels Bucky’s hand reach around his lower back and settle on his hip, pulling him in tight. His heart gives a nervous thud inside his chest as he looks over at Wanda to see how she will react to the information.

“Oh, that’s amazing!” Wanda exclaims happily, clasping her hands in front of her mouth. “I always hoped the two of you would end up together!”

“You did?” Bucky asks, his voice rising into a slight croak, and Steve blinks.

“Of course I did,” she says. “I mean,” she hastily corrects herself with a glance at Steve. “Before you and Brock…” She trails off, realizing what she had been about to say, but Steve waves her off.

“It’s alright,” he assures her softly. “It’s been almost three years now. I’m fine.”

Wanda’s relief is evident as her shoulders drop, her posture relaxing. They exchange a few more pleasantries, just barely enough to call it a conversation, before Wanda and Jarvis are forced to move on to the guest next in line. 

As soon as they clear the space around the happy couple, Bucky tugs Steve along towards the bar situated in the far corner of the room. The area is still rather empty, and when they reach the bar, Bucky signals the bartender who immediately proceeds to pour them two fingers of whisky each.

“Here,” Bucky says, thrusting the served glass into Steve’s hand. “You look like you might need it.”

Steve grunts out a low thanks under his breath as he tries his best to ignore the way his fingers tremble when he raises the glass to drink.

He never would have dared to hope for it, but that encounter had actually gone remarkably well. So far everyone seems perfectly willing to accept that Bucky and him are an item, all according to plan. It makes him wonder exactly  _ when _ things are about to go wrong.

“That was a fun piece of information, don’t you think?” Bucky mumbles suddenly while chuckling to himself as he politely holds his glass out to the bartender, who begins fixing him another drink.

“What information?” Steve grates out, the strength of the alcohol momentarily bringing additional gravel to his voice.

“That the two of us apparently have a secret fanclub,” Bucky smirks.

“Well… That was indeed news to me,” Steve agrees.

“You think there were others?” Bucky asks. “Who thought of us that way?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Steve confesses with a snort. “But if it helps us through this evening, then I genuinely hope so.”

“Amen,” Bucky agrees solemnly.

“To a relationship well established, I guess,” Steve declares, holding up his drink towards Bucky, and Bucky obediently clinks the rims together, before tipping his own glass back to take a swig. Following suit, Steve feels the flutter of his nerves settle, but he can’t tell if it’s due to the main introduction of the night having been taken care of, or because of the alcohol he’d just ingested.

The moment his glass is empty, Bucky has the bartender pour Steve a new drink, and as the man slides it Steve’s way, Bucky tells Steve to at least  _ try  _ and make this one last a bit longer.

“No one likes an alcoholic, Steve,” he says firmly. “Even though I personally would love to see you dancing on the bar with your tie dangling from your forehead, I’m not sure the other guests would share my enthusiasm.”

Steve rolls his eyes at him and demonstratively takes another sip from his glass, staring Bucky dead in the eye as he does so.

“Suit yourself,” Bucky shrugs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Your alcohol tolerance ain’t exactly high.”

“Who are you, my mother?” Steve snorts indignantly.

“Last time I checked, I was your loving, sexy, and impressively well-endowed boyfriend,” Bucky beams while trailing his fingertips suggestively down Steve’s arm.

“I thought we had already established that you’re being way too self-confident considering  the size of your penis,” Steve counters, pointedly ignoring Bucky’s fingers which are now moving on to play with the end of his tie.

“Is that your way of saying that you just love me for my charming personality?” Bucky purrs, leaning in even closer, his nose almost brushing against Steve’s own while Steve continues to ignore him.

“Well, god knows it’s not for that big mouth of yours,” he snorts.

“Shut up, you love my mouth,” Bucky smirks confidently.

Steve can’t help the little twitch that tugs at the corner of his mouth at that. Bucky is switching on the charm, and even though Steve knows perfectly well that this is all just an act, he can’t help but feel a light flutter in his stomach when Bucky’s gaze drops down to lock onto his lips. He is just about to give his sexually obsessed friend another sarcastic retort when another voice, loud and obnoxious, cuts through the air.

“Doth mine eyes deceive me? Rogers, what in the  _ world  _ are you doing?”

Steve jumps back from Bucky so quickly he almost spills his drink all over the front of his shirt. He whirls around, heart hammering against his ribcage, staring at the person who had snuck up behind them, because no, oh, no…!

Sharp eyes gleam back at him from behind a pair of gold-tinted sunglasses, a mischievous smirk playing at the corner of an all-too familiar mouth.

“Hiya, Rogers.”

“Hey, Tony…” Steve swallows. Next to him, Bucky takes a slow step away, and Steve realizes with a start how close they must have been as the cool air of the room swoops in to take the other man’s place.

Tony is wearing a grey suit with a matt, black shirt, with a gold silk tie adorning his chest. He is obviously dressed for the occasion, which makes absolutely no sense to Steve whatsoever.

“Tony, what are you doing here?”

Tony looks at him as if Steve just asked why he’s wearing pants. “I was invited,” he says slowly, eyebrows rising. 

“By who?”

“By the kitchen staff.” Tony rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Who do you think? Just because you decided to break it off with Rumlow doesn’t mean Wanda and I didn’t stay in touch.”

Steve licks his lips, flicking a nervous glance in Bucky’s direction. He had not anticipated this. Had he known that Tony was coming to the wedding as well, he— Hold on a minute.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were coming?” he says with a frown at his cousin. “I told you I had gotten an invitation months ago, and you didn’t say a word.”

“That’s because I wasn’t supposed to come,” Tony says. “I had plans to work, but thanks to the mysterious force called ‘rescheduling’, my meeting for this weekend got moved until tomorrow. Luckily, Wanda was gracious enough to grant my late request to attend, so, here I am.”

His eyes narrow, and Steve has to clasp around his glass with both hands to keep them from shaking.

“So was I seeing things?” Tony asks, looking between them. “Or were the two of you working on the initial stage of a makeout session just now?”

Fuck.

This is not good. This is, in fact, one of the worst things that could happen. Tony knows Bucky; how can he not when the guy has been his baby cousin’s best friend for over twenty years? He’ll never believe that Steve and Bucky are together, there is just no way.  

“We were, uhm…” Steve starts, looking at Bucky for help, who takes the cue without a hitch.

“Steve had something in his eye,” he says, completely straight faced. “I was trying to get it out for him.”

“Is that so…” Tony says slowly. Then he turns and points with his thumb over his shoulder to where Pietro is in the process of helping Wanda and Jarvis looking at who’s signed the guestbook, looking to see if anyone they’d invited hadn’t arrived.

“Because Maximoff over there just told me that he met Rogers in church earlier. With his new  _ boyfriend _ .”

His gaze shifts to Bucky as he says the last word, still looking as if he’s doing his best to figure out which one of them that is trying to fool him.

“You’re his friend, that much I know,” he says, “but  _ boyfriend…? _ Now, that’s an entirely different category.”

His eyes go back to Steve, and just like that, Steve realizes that Tony actually doesn’t  _ know  _ what to think. He is suspicious all right, but not because of the reason Steve and Bucky had first thought. 

Bucky’s quickly fabricated lie has turned the tables on them all. Instead of wondering why Steve is walking around telling people that Bucky is his boyfriend, Tony is now questioning why Steve is apparently willing to tell everyone about it  _ but him _ . 

“I was gonna tell you,” Steve blurts out, the sudden insight making the words leave his mouth before he even has time to properly think them through. Next to him, Bucky’s eyes go wide as he turns his head to stare at him in shock.

“Tell me what?” Tony repeats warily.

“Well…” Steve continues, trying to sound as bashful as he possibly can. “We were planning to wait a while longer, but… since Pietro sort of ruined the surprise for you…” 

He silently steps in and presses himself against Bucky’s side, reaching around his friend’s waist while letting his other hand come up to rest on top of Bucky's chest. Bucky’s breath stalls beneath the palm of his hand, and Steve actually has to bite the inside of his cheek in order not to laugh. He has never in his life seen his cousin look more shocked or confused.

“Surprise,” Bucky says awkwardly, making Tony’s eyes flash back towards him.

“Well, I’ll be damned…” he breathes. Sending Steve a questioning look, he lets out a low chuckle while throwing his hands out to the side. “I’m not gonna say I’m not surprised, but hey, if that’s the way things are…”

Steve watches Tony hold his hand out towards Bucky, and how Bucky shakes it, albeit a bit cautiously.

“Welcome to the family, Bucko,” Tony says with a smirk. “I trust that we won't have to go through the whole shovel speech, right?”

“Nah, I think we’re good,” Bucky agrees. Tony laughs, taking a step back to look him up and down.

“So how long has this been going on?” Tony gestures at the two of them. “It’s gotta be a pretty recent development?”

“Pretty much,” Bucky says with a nod. He quickly gives Tony a recap of his and Steve’s  _ very revised _ adventure at the concert a few months back, and as he talks, Steve slowly lets his hand creep down Bucky’s chest, moving it to rest warningly against the side of his ribs. It’s Bucky’s most vulnerable tickle-spot; just in case he gets too creative with the story, Steve wants Bucky to know that he’s not above resorting to dirty tricks to make Bucky behave himself.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to. Bucky is, as usual, an excellent liar, and Tony appears to swallow his explanation without as much as a second thought.

“Again,” Tony says once Bucky’s done. “I’m not gonna pretend that I’m not surprised. I mean, I know the two of you have always been close, I just didn’t expect you to, you know, end up  _ this  _ close.”

“I hear you,” Bucky agrees with a grin. “Sometimes we have a hard time believing it ourselves, right, sweetheart?” Unceremoniously, Bucky slaps his hand against Steve’s ass and Steve barely manages to suppress a yelp as he straightens up in startled surprise.

“Right,” he squawks. “It really did come as a… pleasant shock, for both of us.”

Tony laughs, shaking his head, as if he can imagine exactly what that ‘shock’ had looked like. His eyes go to Steve, but just as he opens his mouth to say something more, his gaze flickers towards a spot somewhere over Steve’s left shoulder. His gaze darkens, and his smile drops as he quickly turns away.

“Oh, boy, here we go,” he mutters.

“What?” Bucky asks, frowning.

“Just stay frosty,” Tony murmurs. “We’ve got incoming.”

“Hello, Stark.”

Steve freezes, the familiarity of the new voice creeping like an icy chill down his spine. He feels Bucky’s shoulder square against his body, and something tight settles over Bucky’s face as he turns his head to look at the newcomer who has come to stand right next to them.

Tony’s face could have been carved out of stone as he too turns to face the new arrival.

“Nice to see you, Rumlow.”

Brock grins, as if he finds Tony’s feistiness amusing. Then he turns towards Steve, his smile turning soft.

“Steve,” he greets. “Glad to see you could make it.”

“Likewise,” Steve answers politely.  

“I see that you’ve located the alcohol,” Brock says, gesturing towards the glass in Steve’s hand, and Steve shifts, feeling a furious heat rise up his neck.

“I—” 

“Yeah, we were a bit thirsty,” Bucky interrupts, holding up his own glass. “This is some great whisky you’ve got here, by the way. Expensive?” 

Brock looks at the liquid sloshing around in Bucky’s glass, then at the bottle of ten-year-old Laphroaig still standing on the bar counter.

“Somewhat, yes,” he says slowly, and Bucky grins back as he brings his glass up to his lips.

“Thought so,” he admits, drinking from the glass with his eyes fastened on Brock.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name,” Brock frowns. The comment has Steve glaring at him.

Of course Brock knows who Bucky is; they had met plenty of times before. That comment is just a low blow to make Bucky lose his footing. Bucky seems to realize this as well, because instead of introducing himself again or argue about what they all already know, he just sends Brock a one-eyed wink.

“Oh, give it some time,” he says slyly. “It’ll come to you.”

Brock, who apparently had expected a different answer, scowls. Then he seems to make a quick decision as his face lights up with fake surprise a mere split second later.

“Barnes?” he says, as if marveled. “I didn’t recognize you without that ghastly leather jacket of yours.”

“Well, Steve wouldn’t let me wear it, so,” Bucky counters, not paying any heed to the insult. 

“ _ Steve _ wouldn’t let you?” Brock asks, and the confident smile on his face drops once again when he spots the way Steve’s arm is still wrapped around Bucky’s midsection.

“Yeah,” Bucky continues with a smile, as if he isn’t at all aware of where Brock is currently looking. “Made me buy a suit and everything.” He turns to Tony, ignoring Brock completely as he continues, “I don’t really like wearing this stuff, but, hey, the things you do for love, am I right?”

“Lo—ve?” Brock questions, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Steve can see that he’s trying not to laugh, and for some reason that little hiccup in the middle of the word annoys him. He's spent nearly two weeks worrying about it himself, but right here, at this moment, Rumlow’s doubt suddenly makes him  _ angry _ . Is it really that impossible for Brock to imagine that Bucky and Steve genuinely love each other? Really?

“Do you find the idea amusing?” he hears himself ask, and from the corner of his eye he sees Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up in impressed surprise. 

“Not at all,” Brock says, trying to sound remorseful, but failing. “I just never thought that someone like Mr. Muscle Car here would be your type.”

“Then obviously, you know nothing about my type,” Steve answers tightly. 

Brock’s smile disappears, frosty resentment swooping in to take its place.

“Woah, woah,” Tony cuts in, stepping in between them. “Let’s all just play nice for a moment. This is supposed to be a wedding reception, not a prize fight.”

“You have  _ got _ to be kidding me,” Brock snarls, obviously not listening to what Tony is saying as he stares Steve down. “You’re trying to tell me that you’re actually  _ dating  _ this pathetic loser?” He points at Bucky, who cocks an eyebrow at the digit suddenly directed his way.

“Brock,” Steve warns, but Bucky is already one step ahead of him.

“Are you saying you don’t  _ believe  _ us?” he asks, and how he manages to make the question sound so absolutely  _ preposterous _ , Steve will never know.

“I’m saying that the thought of  _ Steve  _ dating someone like  _ you  _ is absolutely  _ ludicrous _ ,” Brock snorts, and this time Steve can’t discern if the sentence is meant as an insult towards him, Bucky, or both of them. 

“Well, let’s see you laugh at this then, chucklehead,” Bucky says.

Steve doesn’t get much time to react. Just a hand on the back of his neck, another one around his waist, both pulling him forward, and then Bucky’s mouth is on his.

He had tried to prepare himself for the eventuality of a kiss happening at one point during the night, but he should have realized that it wouldn’t have made a difference. The moment Bucky’s lips latch themselves over Steve’s own, he is  _ gone _ . 

His breath stutters as his hands come up to clutch hard around Bucky’s shoulders, grounding him by fisting his fingers in the fabric of Bucky’s suit. He registers the hot, smoky taste of whisky on Bucky’s tongue as it dips inside his mouth, brushing against his own in a quick flick that leaves Steve weak in the knees. Without being able to control it, he feels himself push in against the solid frame of Bucky's body; heart racing, head spinning, while Bucky literally wrestles the breath out of his lungs with the wicked slide of his lips. 

It’s over before Steve even has time to register it all properly. Lightheaded, he swallows down the breathy little noise of disapproval he can feel forming in the back of his throat when Bucky pulls away with a wet pop.

“There,” he hears Bucky say, obviously addressing Brock once more. “Was that convincingly enough for you, or do you want us to do it again?”

Steve turns his head around, still dazed. Brock is glaring daggers at Bucky, as if they’re both seven years old and Bucky’s just broken Brock’s favourite toy.

“C’mon, Rumlow,” Tony says while putting his hand on Brock’s shoulder, steering him away. “Just leave it alone.”

Brock’s jaw clenches, and then he squares his shoulders as he straightens up, pride clouding the anger in his eyes.

“Enjoy the party, gentlemen,” he says tightly, nodding towards the bottle behind Bucky’s back. “Try to save some of the whisky for the other guests, will you?”

With a curt nod towards Tony, Brock turns his back on them and walks away. As he disappears through the doorway leading towards the exit of the venue, Bucky lets out a tightly held breath.

“Wow, that guy’s an even bigger dick than I remembered,” he says. “No offence, Steve,” he adds quickly.

“None taken,” Steve replies. Every single care he had been hosting about his encounter with Brock has been blown to pieces inside his head, and the only thing now existing in his mind is the way Bucky’s left hand is still pressing in against his lower back.

“He’s just jealous,” Tony pitches in with a snort. “Apparently his date canceled on him last minute. He had most likely looked forward to getting his flirt on with you as a Plan B, since for all we knew, you were supposed to show up here single,” he adds towards Steve.

“Well, he shouldn’t have assumed so much,” Bucky grumbles, and his grip on Steve’s waist tightens. All of a sudden, Steve feels as if he’s going to faint. 

“I’m…” He takes a step away, out of Bucky’s arms. “I’m gonna go— I need to use the restroom.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, nodding courteously. “I’ll hang around here until you get back.”

Steve gives him a distracted nod back, already moving. He can feel a cold sweat break out all over his back and neck as he walks across the room, aiming for the lobby. He has no idea if Bucky is watching him go or not, but he imagines feeling the weight of Bucky’s gaze on his back all the way until he rounds the corner and out of sight.

There are three restrooms out in the far end of the lobby; one for men, one for women, and one handicapped accessible. Steve quickly goes inside the men’s room, relief flooding his system as he finds it empty at first glance. The room is divided in two sections, with urinals along the far wall, and stalls lining the wall to the left, opposite of the mirrored sinks. It’s dead quiet, but as an extra precaution, Steve still bends down to quickly scan the floor inside the stalls for any possible feet, before turning around to lean against one of the sinks with a shuddering sigh. His heart is pounding hard, sending his chest thundering with the force of it as his hands tremble, gripping around the porcelain sink.

He had not foreseen this. Of all the possible scenarios he had gone through inside his head about this evening, he had not even once considered that he would actually  _ enjoy  _ having Bucky kiss him.

Steve catches a glance of himself in the mirror that hangs above the sink; his eyes wide, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly. He can still sense the phantom feeling of Bucky’s hands on his body, the lingering sensation of his lips on his lips, and fuck, fuck, no, no, no, this can’t be happening.

Trying to will his pulse down, he turns the tap in the sink. Splattering cold water on his face, he attempts to shock the panic out of his system, dragging deep, calming breaths down into his lungs. When it doesn’t work, he resorts to his asthma inhaler, and for the first time in ages, he actually feels grateful for the fact that he has to bring the blasted thing along with him everywhere he goes. 

Alright… Alright, he can do this. It was just a kiss, nothing more. This is all just a side effect of stress and alcohol, and Bucky being all flirty and suggestive. It’s all an act; Bucky just got a bit carried away, that’s all.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he grumbles at his reflection. “You’ve kissed him once before. This is nothing new.”

Only it is. It’s  _ all  _ new. Steve can’t understand how he could have been so naive. For some reason he had expected Bucky’s kiss to be just as awkward and closed-mouthed as when they were kids, but oh, had he been  _ wrong _ .

Bucky’s kiss had been hot. Actually, it had been  _ more  _ than hot. It had stolen Steve’s breath away, knocked his feet from underneath him, and left him struggling to even  _ think _ . How could he  _ not  _ have seen that coming? Bucky, who’s handsome, flirtatious, witty, and ever so confident, how could he  _ not  _ be anything but a fantastic kisser?

“He’s your best friend.” Man, saying it like that, out loud, makes him feel guilty, because as the words leave his mouth, the realization that he actually feels  _ attracted  _ to Bucky hits him like a punch to the gut. 

Bucky, in his brand new, slim fitted suit, with Steve’s tie around his neck… Bucky, with his ridiculously full lips, with Steve’s tongue in his mouth, Steve’s hands fisting the hair at the back of Bucky’s head as he pulls him close and shoves him up against the wall of the bathroom stall—   

Steve hangs his head down between his shoulders as his grip tightens around the basin to the point where the skin of his knuckles matches the colour of the porcelain surface beneath.

He can  _ not  _ be sexually attracted to his best friend. He just  _ can’t be _ . 

Only, he is. Oh, lord help him, he is. 

“Shit…” he hisses, feeling a lump threatening to lodge itself in his throat. He looks up at himself again, gaze hardening as he makes one final attempt to strengthen his resolve.

“Alright,” he mutters under his breath. “So you’ve kissed him. You’ve proven your point. Wanda and Jarvis bought it, Brock bought it; even your own  _ cousin  _ bought it. There’s no need for anything else now. Don’t think about it, don’t let it affect you. Don’t touch him, don’t flirt with him,  _ don’t do anything _ . Just. Act. Normal.”

He attempts a glare at the mirror, but the look he gets from his reflection feels all but convincing.

/\/\/\

When he eventually leaves the bathroom several minutes later, Tony is standing outside waiting for him. He is leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are hard as they turn to give Steve a penetrating look.

“You probably think you’re being clever?” he asks, just as Steve emerges from the bathroom.

“What are you talking about?” Steve grunts as he turns around in a pointless display of closing the self-closing door behind him, just to avoid the judgemental look in his cousin’s eye.

“Since when do you have feelings for that guy?” Tony presses on, ignoring Steve’s feigned candidness.  

“We already told you,” Steve starts. “We went to a concert, and—”

“Please, spare me the theatrics,” Tony says with a snort. “You honestly want me to believe that you and Barnes became a couple, and you weren’t going to bother telling me about it until now?”

Steve shuts his mouth with a muted snap.

“I mean,” Tony continues, canting his head down to catch Steve’s gaze. “In three months time, I’d like to think that you would have at least told your own  _ family  _ that you’ve started dating your best friend.” His lips narrow into a thin line, eyes sharp. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I hardly see how my love life concerns you,” Steve tries, but Tony doesn’t buy it.

“If there  _ was  _ a love life,” he points out. “But there isn’t, is there?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, stop it,” Tony snaps, leaning off the wall with a pained look on his face. “It’s just pathetic. You can’t lie to  _ me _ ; you never could, you know that.”

Steve swallows, feeling Tony’s gaze drill into his face until he sighs, arms falling down to his side in resignation.

“Steve, what’s going on here?” he pleads. “Why the hell are you guys walking around telling everyone that you’re a  _ couple _ ?”

“Because—” Steve cuts himself off when another guest suddenly enters the lobby. The old man gives the two of them a curt nod along with a polite smile from behind his glasses as he walks past them, and Steve waits until he’s completely out of sight before he continues, hissing: “Because I didn’t want to come here alone.” 

“So? You could have bought him along as a regular friend,” Tony hisses back, leaning forward with a near-whisper as he continues, “Why would you make him pose as your  _ boyfriend? _ ”

“Because I didn’t want people to think that I was— That I was some sort of pathetic, undateable  _ freak. _ ” Steve retorts, just as low.

“Oh, and having Bucky fake that you’re together is supposed to be  _ less  _ pathetic?” Tony asks, eyebrows arching high. 

Steve rolls his eyes in frustration as he leans his head back against the closed restroom door with a loud thump. “I panicked, okay?” he defends himself. “I didn’t think he’d— Besides, if only Brock hadn’t pushed the subject, we never would have been forced to—”

“To smooch each other senseless in front of your ex?” Tony finishes sarcastically, earning him a glare from his younger relative.

“Brock deserved it,” Steve grumbles. “He was being rude.”

Tony sighs, but Steve can tell from his expression that he’s of the same opinion. They fall silent. Steve stubbornly stares up at the ceiling, head canted back against the bathroom door while Tony studies the tip of his shoes.

“So,” Tony says eventually. “You really think Bucky’s one hundred percent okay with all this?”

“So he says,” Steve answers with a shrug. “Believe it or not, it was actually his idea.”

Tony lets out a low, impressed whistle. “Well, I suppose that explains a few things,” he mumbles, making Steve frown.

“What things?” he grunts testily.

“The kiss back there, for one,” Tony says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Steve swallows hard, as the kiss is still far too fresh in his memory not to send an involuntary tremor through his limbs. “What about the kiss?” he grates out, and Tony looks at him, sympathetic and pity evident in his eyes.

“You think all that was nothing but good acting on Bucky’s part?” he asks pointedly, sending Steve’s gut fluttering. “Because I’ve seen people kiss before, you know, and he didn’t kiss you like someone he's kissed already. He kissed you as if it was something he’s been longing to do for a very, very long time. And he _ liked it _ .”

Suddenly Steve is glad that he’s already leaning against a wall.

“He did…?” he asks meekly, and Tony snorts, narrowing his eyes at him.

“You’re trying to tell me you didn’t?” he asks, chuckling. “Because if that’s the case, then you should make a career switch and move to Hollywood asap, Clark Gable. Because that was a damn fine show you just put on out there.”

Steve clenches his jaw, looking away. “It was just a kiss,” he grumbles. “Nothing to get excited about.”

“Really?” Tony groans, calling Steve’s bluff without a second’s hesitation. “That’s what this conversation’s going to be like?”

“It’s the way it  _ has  _ to be,” Steve growls. “Bucky’s my best friend. He’s doing this because he wants to  _ help  _ me. He  _ trusts  _ me, and I can’t let myself—” He cuts himself off, but Tony has already caught onto his unfinished sentence.

“You can’t let yourself do what?” he prompts, stepping closer. Steve licks his lips as he looks down at his feet. He knows that he has practically already outed himself; Tony isn’t stupid. And as expected, it doesn’t take many seconds before he hears his cousin let out a heavy, whimpering sigh from his spot on the other side of the hallway.

“Oh, Steve…”

“Don’t,” Steve warns. “I am perfectly aware of what an idiot I am, thank you very much.” 

“Does Bucky know?”

“Know what?” Steve grunts.

“That you… feel that way?” Tony clarifies tactfully, and Steve groans.

“Tony,” he explains patiently, “up until fifteen minutes ago,  _ I _ didn’t even know.”

“You really are an idiot…” Tony mutters while crossing his arms. “So what are you planning to do do about it?”

“Nothing,” Steve answers immediately, but then he changes his mind, grimacing. “I mean, I don’t know, I— I don’t even know what I  _ want  _ to do yet.” 

“Do you have any idea what  _ Bucky  _ wants?” Tony asks, but Steve just shakes his head. “Then maybe you should just ask him about that first?” Tony suggests, and Steve’s heart takes a giant leap right up into his throat.

“No,” he hisses. “Bucky can’t know  _ anything  _ about this.”

“Why not?” Tony asks with an indignant frown. “I’m telling you, going by the way he keeps touching you all the time, the guy’s probably as interested as you are.”

“It’s an  _ act _ ,” Steve snaps. “Okay? I  _ told him _ to do that.”

“You told James Buchanan Barnes to slap your ass?” Tony asks incredulously. “Because I have a hard time imagining that conversation happening.”

“I didn’t ask him specifically for  _ that _ ,” Steve mutters. “He volunteered to act as my boyfriend, and I told him that we might have to…  _ do  _ certain things to make the act more believable and he just… went with it.”

“Oh, and I  _ wonder _ why,” Tony says sarcastically.

“Because he’s my best friend, and he wanted to  _ help me _ ,” Steve declares tightly. “That’s it. Bucky doesn’t  _ like _ me, that kiss didn’t  _ mean _ anything, I’m an idiot, and  _ you’re keeping your mouth shut about this _ . Do you hear me?”

Tony huffs as he sends him an imploring look. “I’m just saying, you shouldn’t be so quick to write off your chances.”

“Not a  _ word _ , Tony,” Steve repeats, harder, and Tony throws his hands up in silent surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he promises. “As long as you’re sure about what you're doing.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> As usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I do my best to respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	3. Until Love Do Us Part...

It takes some time before Steve dares himself to go back out into the venue hall.

Tony had left him alone with his misery the moment he realized that Steve wasn’t going to change his mind regarding letting Bucky know about how the kiss had affected him. Steve knows that Tony is just trying to be supportive, but at the moment his encouragement isn’t exactly helping. Steve appreciates that his talkative cousin had at least promised to keep his mouth shut…

As Steve re-enters the reception, he has almost managed to make himself completely calm again. He doesn’t have to consult the seating chart by the door as he spots Bucky sitting at one of the many round tables upon entering the room. Approaching, Steve sternly tells his stomach to stop swirling immediately. He’s  _ fine _ .

Bucky gives him a quick little smile as Steve sits down on the chair next to him, acknowledging his return, and Steve wills himself to return it with every ounce of serenity that he can muster.

The tables around them quickly fill up with guests. Once everyone are seated, the newlyweds offers everyone an official welcome from their place at the main table, before announcing that dinner is served.

The dinner consists of a buffet, with enough food to feed half an army. Steve knows that Bucky valiantly tries to hold himself back, but the guy still ends up with a plate almost welling over with food nonetheless.

“There’s no possible way that you’re going to be able to finish all that,” Steve points out soberly when Bucky grabs hold of his cutlery, ready to wage war on the various dishes on his plate.

“Watch me,” Bucky declares while simultaneously stabbing his fork into a piece of grilled chicken.

“You’re going to puke,” Steve predicts calmly, because really, that is a lot of food.

“And it will be worth it,” Bucky hums in response as he brings the fork up to his mouth with a pleased grin.

Steve fires off a nervous smile, feeling the pit of his stomach stir at the sight of Bucky’s smiling lips. He quickly turns his attention to his own plate, keeping his eyes lowered while he eats his food. 

He has barely gotten halfway through his serving when the chair on the opposite side of the table gets pulled out. Looking up, expecting some stranger, Steve instead finds himself face to face with Tony’s familiar slanted smile.

“You lovebirds mind if I join you?” Tony asks. He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before he sits down. Steve sends him a stern look, but Tony only winks at him slyly, before sitting down. 

Steve wants to tell Tony to go away, and he wishes that he had looked at the seating arrangements before coming over. He’s sure Tony wouldn’t go as far as to trade chairs with someone just to get a chance at tormenting Steve further, but then again, when it comes to Tony, very few things would surprise Steve at this point…

So he continues to glower in his cousin’s direction as Tony shakes out his napkin while turning towards Bucky with a grin.

“So, are you two lovebirds planning to move in together soon?” he asks bluntly while tucking said napkin into his collar. Had the table not been so wide in diameter, Steve would have kicked him right in the shin.

“We’ve talked about it,” Bucky says nonchalantly, and Steve whips his head around to stare at him. “I mean,” Bucky continues, noticing the look. “I practically live at Steve’s place already, so it wouldn’t really make a difference.” 

“My apartment’s too small for both of us,” Steve intercepts, and now it’s Bucky’s turn to turn around and look at  _ him _ .

“Yeah, but… for a little while it would be alright. Right?” he says, frowning. “At least until we can find ourselves a bigger place?”

“I could help you look around?” Tony offers graciously.

“ _ No, _ ” Steve grunts, at the same time as Bucky says, “Sure”.

They look at each other. Bucky appears hurt by Steve’s blatant rejection, while Steve tries to decide whether he should feel flattered or absolutely dismayed by the entire situation.

There are two seconds of silence. Just two. Yet, in those two seconds, Bucky and Steve manage to have an entire conversation between themselves. It’s a thing of theirs; something they have been able to do for as long as Steve can remember. After this many years of friendship, it comes to them as naturally as actual speech does.

Bucky’s eyebrow twitches, asking Steve what the hell he’s doing, and in return, Steve swallows hard, apologising. 

Bucky clenches his jaw as he cants his head ever-so-slightly to one side; to question if something is wrong. Steve responds to it by licking his lips at the same time as he turns his eyes back to his plate. No, nothing is wrong, he just got a bit carried away.

“I mean,” Steve corrects himself out loud. “Thanks for the offer, Tony, but I think apartment hunting is an activity we should handle on our own.”

“No, no, I get it,” Tony says while smiling at them fondly. “I know that there are…  _ certain things _ that you as a couple should probably discuss in private before involving other people.”

Steve’s jaw tightens, and his glare hardens, both actions to no avail.

“Anyway,” Tony continues cheerfully, completely ignoring the fact that his cousin is silently planning his long and painful death from the other side of the table. “Am I right to assume that you’re the one wearing the pants in the family, Buck-o?”

“Wow,” Bucky says with a chuckle, taking a drink from his beer. “Way to go with the delicate questioning there, Tony.”

“You’re right, my apologies,” Tony grins, obviously not sorry at all. “I’m just having trouble seeing Steve take the first step in all this, that’s all.”

“Yeah, he’s a bit shy, ain’t he?” Bucky agrees. Steve’s fork lands on his plate with a clatter when Bucky leans in to drape his arm over Steve’s shoulder, pulling him in close; chair and all.

“Ah, yes. Poor, modest Rogers,” Tony concurs, now grinning from ear to ear. “So innocent, so pure. A proper little angel.”

“I suppose that would make you the devil then,” Steve all but growls, willing himself to stay within Bucky’s embrace out of sheer spite towards his cousin, while his heart continues to literally do the Mambo inside his chest.

“Ow, that one hurt,” Tony says, feigning offense. “And after all that I’ve done for you in the past.” He glances at Bucky, grinning. “Actually, as I recall it, you two even owe me your first kiss.”

Bucky laughs, and just the rumble of his voice, so close, makes it hard for Steve to breathe. “I guess we do,” Bucky agrees, still grinning. “Even if it was just a dirty trick on your part.” 

“As if you complained,” Tony counters. “I suppose I won’t have to propose a dare in order to get you guys to kiss each other now, though, do I?”

“Absolutely not,” Steve says grimly.  _ Why  _ are they talking about kissing again? About Bucky’s lips on his lips? What is Tony  _ thinking?! _

“Steve’s right,” Bucky beams while unfolding himself from around Steve’s shoulders. “We can manage just fine by ourselves.” Then he reaches under the tabletop and runs his hand affectionately over the top of Steve’s thigh.

Steve tries really hard not to flinch, but he still manages to knock his knee against the tabletop hard enough to make the plates rattle at the unexpected touch of Bucky’s fingers against his leg. Bucky’s hand is warm, practically burning through the fabric of Steve’s suit pants. Steve can feel the heat of it seep into his bloodstream and journey all the way up to his gut in a searing flash, making it hard to form coherent thoughts. Has Bucky always been this warm? Or is it Steve that’s warm? Shit, is he blushing? Oh, please god, no, don’t let him be blushing, please.

He takes a deep, calming breath as he valiantly tries to keep the strained twitch at the corner of his lip from spreading to the rest of his face. 

On his left, Bucky is completely oblivious to what his hand on Steve’s body is doing to him. Bucky just keeps smiling, mouthing off with Tony in that usual bickering tone the two of them adopt when squabbling with each other, just for fun. Whatever topic they have moved on to discuss, however, Steve doesn’t hear a word coming out of their mouths, because now Bucky’s thumb has begun to do this slow, tender swipe back and forth against the outside of his thigh, and it is pure  _ torture. _

This is bad. This is so,  _ so  _ bad.

Steve  knows that Tony is watching him, but even that piece of knowledge isn’t enough to keep his poker face from slowly crumbling. Bucky’s thumb continuously makes shivers rush up his spine, and Steve is surprised that his hand is still steady when he reaches out and grabs his beer off the table, drinking almost half its content in a single gulp.

“Woah, you were thirsty,” Bucky remarks when Steve puts the glass back down, and Steve is thankful when the movement of the other’s finger stills.

“Yeah,” he grates while wiping the remaining foam away from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “The chicken was spicier than I thought.”

“You want me to get you another beer?” Bucky asks, eyeing Steve’s empty bottle.

“Yeah, that would be nice, thanks,” Steve responds under his breath. When Bucky’s hand leaves his thigh, Steve promptly downs the rest of his drink and then hands the glass for Bucky to take. He keeps his eyes securely fastened on the tabletop until he’s sure that Bucky is out of earshot. Then he turns towards Tony – to ask him for help, or to tell him to go fuck himself, he hasn’t quite decided. Tony, on the other hand, has already stood up, and is halfway across the room before Steve even gets the first syllable across his lips.

He slouches into his seat, a feeling of absolute exhaustion settling over his body. He won’t survive this; not an entire night of Bucky touching him like that, so close and so…  _ Bucky _ . 

He drags his hands over his face with a muffled groan. He needs to get a grip or this will end in disaster. His body is still flushing, and he can feel the rapid staccato of his pulse thrum through his veins, and fuck, he needs to  _ calm down _ .

Bucky is just playing the  _ part. _ He’s doing what he has promised Steve to do for several weeks now, and Steve has no right to be mad or frustrated with  _ him _ . Bucky is trying to help, and it’s not his fault that Steve has suddenly discovered a new, previously unthinkable part of his libido, that suddenly has his body running hot over Bucky’s mere  _ presence. _

It’s just a matter of a few more hours. There will be speeches, dessert, and then there will be dancing of some sort, but Steve can work with that. A few hours, then they can leave the party, get to their hotel, and everything will go back to normal. In the meantime, all he has to do is to steer clear of Bucky and his warm, sexy, roaming hands.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, grimacing at himself. He  _ really  _ needs to stop thinking ‘Bucky’ and ‘sexy’ in the same sentence if he’s going to make it through this.

Steve is so focused on his own misery that he doesn’t notice that someone has come up to stand right next to him until he feels a light tap on the shoulder that nearly scares him half to death as he practically leaps up from his seat.

“Oh, sorry, I’m sorry!” Wanda gasps, withdrawing her hand to clutch her wine glass against her chest. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Steve slumps back down with a relieved sigh. “It’s alright,” he assures her. Jesus, for a moment there he had been convinced that Bucky had managed to sneak up on him while he wasn’t paying attention. “Please.” He gestures to Bucky’s empty chair. “Have a seat.”

“You looked kinda upset,” Wanda says while glancing him up and down as she sits down. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m—” Steve swallows, straightening up. “I’m just a bit tired. I had trouble sleeping last night.”

“Oh. I hope it’s nothing serious? It would be a shame if you spent the rest of the reception in a bad mood.” For a moment Wanda looks as if she’s going to say something else, but then she switches to another topic. “Speaking of, what do you think about the it so far?”

“It’s beautiful,” Steve answers, completely honest as he adds, “ _ You’re _ very beautiful.”

Wanda laughs, smiling at him. “You always were a charmer, Steve…” she says, glancing at him fondly. “I honestly don’t understand how Bucky could stand being just friends with you for so long without acting on that.” She looks around, searching. “Where is he, by the way?”

“He went to get drinks.” Steve clears his throat. “He’ll probably be back in a minute.”

“I see.” Wanda’s gaze drops to her lap. Wringing her hands around her wine glass she takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself before she speaks again. “I saw you guys talking to Brock earlier.”

Steve stiffens. Wanda notices.

“I asked him to leave you guys alone, but he wouldn’t listen,” she says quickly. “He’s been dealing with a lot lately, and he’s not really acting like himself. I hope he didn’t cause any trouble.”

“No, he didn’t,” Steve promises. “I mean, I won’t say our reunion couldn’t have gone smoother, but… I’m not mad. I still consider him a friend, even if he doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

“He really didn’t deserve you,” Wanda says firmly, shaking her head. “He’s always been so feisty. Quick to act, not to think.” She looks up at him, smiling. “And like I said before, I was kind of rooting for Bucky the entire time. I guess that makes me a bad sister, but it’s the truth.”

“I’m sure Bucky will be glad to hear that,” Steve answers courtly.

“Yeah,” Wanda agrees with a laugh. “I mean, it was pretty hard not to take his side. With the way he was pining for you and all.”

“Pining?” Steve repeats, his polite smile drooping into a nervous twitch halfway through the word. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon, you must have been aware of it?” Wanda says with a snort. “He was always following you around. Looking at you with those pretty doe eyes of his. I swear, if you’d told him to jump, he would have been five feet up in the air before the thought even occurred to him to ask you how high.”

Something inside Steve’s chest pulls together tight, like a fist clenching, and then his heart starts racing. Pounding away, bruising the back of his ribs, and the entire world appears to shrink down to the very area around Wanda’s mouth as she continues to speak.

“Bucky’s always been there to make sure you’re okay. Even when you got together with Brock, he was right there behind you. It hurt him to see you with someone else, I’m sure, but your friendship was obviously more important to him than that. I think it still is.” She leans back in her chair, taking a sip of her wine. “Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything that man wouldn’t do for you,” she says firmly.

Steve opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Bucky has been— No, no, Wanda is mistaken, surely Steve would have noticed—  

_ It was you… That one time with the bet…  _

_ I just assumed that it was— That it was the same for you…  _

_ Apparently, I jumped the gun on that one… _

No, that can’t be it. Bucky is his best friend, they have been friends for  _ years _ , he can’t—  

“Anyway,” Wanda says, standing up again. “Bucky’s a lucky guy to finally have you for himself.” She smiles at him, and makes a gesture with her glass towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna have to go talk to catering about the cake now, but I’ll swing by later and we’ll catch up some more. All three of us. Alright?”

Steve nods, still unable to produce a single word, and he watches Wanda turn and disappear through the crowd, leaving him alone by the table once more.

His brain feels like a bowl of scrambled eggs in his skull. For every piece he tries to puzzle together – about tonight, the last week, the past ten years – fifteen more pieces decided to intervene, throwing him off track. 

Bucky has been  _ pining _ ? 

Over  _ him _ ?

An hour ago the thought would have had him laughing until he cried, but this is not an hour ago. Right now he feels as if someone has somehow managed to cram an entire swarm of butterflies down his throat, his stomach flipping over itself with anticipation at the very idea.

Could it really be? Unless Wanda was saying all that to make him feel less guilty about the fight with Brock… There’s a possibility that she just wants to assure him that there are no hard feelings by complementing Steve on his new ‘boyfriend’… By telling him what a dependable, caring, and affectionate partn—  

The thought shatters, only partially formed inside his head, as Steve jackknifes up into a sitting position with a choked squawk. Back rigid, he pulls his shoulders up towards his ears, gasping as Bucky graciously removes the frigid beer bottle from the back of his neck.

“I got you your drink, baby,” he says sweetly as he comes around Steve’s left to reclaim his chair.

“Fuck off,” Steve grits out as he leans over to punch Bucky hard on the shoulder over the distance between their seats. He can feel condensation trickle down his spine from the spot where Bucky had pressed the bottle, and when he looks over, he sees that the entire thing is covered in thick droplets of water.

“What did you do, put it in a freezer?” he grumbles out as he snatches the flask out of Bucky’s hand, before the jerk has any more bright ideas of where to put it.

“They have an entire barrel over by the bar,” Bucky says, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder. “Well, half a barrel,” he corrects himself, grinning proudly. “The rest is just ice.”

“I hate you,” Steve mutters. 

Bucky’s response is to snicker evilly as he drinks straight from the bottle. Steve follows his example, and he has to say that the beer feels a lot better trickling down his throat than it had being shoved against his bare skin.

He glances over at Bucky, clutching the bottle in his hands as he watches the jut of Bucky’s throat bob when the other swallows, lips plump and pink around the opening of the bottle. His eyelashes are dark, fanning out over the sun-kissed skin of Bucky’s cheekbones, and Steve can feel his throat run dry even though he has just swallowed down an entire mouthful of his own beverage. 

Damn, Bucky is beautiful. Like, painfully beautiful. How has he not noticed that before…?

“What’s wrong?” Bucky chuckles, and Steve realizes that he’s been caught staring when Bucky continues, “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” Steve answers, quickly turning away. “No, I was just…thinking of something else.” 

He swallows down another gulp of his beer, the bottle already half empty. Man, he’s going to get so wasted… 

“So what did Wanda want?” Bucky asks, twisting around in his seat so that he is facing Steve again. Before Steve can move, Bucky has pulled his chair up and brought one of his legs in between Steve’s already parted ones, efficiently framing Steve’s left knee with his own, preventing any kind of escape.

“I saw you two talking from the bar,” he explains, beer bottle dangling nonchalantly in between his fingertips. “Did she have more stories about her Steve-loves-Bucky fan club to share?” He winks, obviously thinking himself to be very clever, but Steve can barely even focus on the words leaving his friend’s mouth.

Their knees are so close they almost touch, the phantom feeling of Bucky’s leg rubbing against his being like an itch against Steve’s skin. Then Bucky proceeds to lean forward to brace his elbows against his knees while firing off a dazzling smile at him, and shit, Steve is not  _ nearly  _ drunk enough for this.

“She wanted to check up on me,” he answers quietly. “After what happened with Brock.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s smile falters slightly. “What did you tell her?”

“That I’m fine. That I don’t have any hard feelings about… anything.”

“That’s pretty noble of you,” Bucky says with a snort. “After all the things he said, I mean.”

“I’m not gonna start a fight, Buck,” Steve mutters pointedly, but when Bucky’s response is to raise a skeptical eyebrow at him, Steve sighs and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “All right; I’m not gonna start a fight at _ Wanda’s wedding. _ Listen, Brock was already upset when he joined us, and to turn down a peace offering, even if it doesn’t come from Brock himself, would just be plain stupid.”

“Good thing you’re so bright, then,” Bucky mocks. It’s a playful taunt, one Steve is used to hearing, and the rhythm catches him before he even has a chance to think his response over.

“Brighter than you,” he quips back, and Bucky’s lips crack open in a wide leer.

“That’s no secret, you know,” he teases. “I’ve always been the pretty one.”

“Everything is relative,” Steve says with a snort as he takes another swig from his bottle.

“What, so you don’t think I’m pretty?” Bucky smirks as he says it, and Steve quickly averts his eyes when Bucky’s gaze locks onto his.

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbles. 

“So you  _ do  _ think I’m pretty?” Bucky prompts, if possible smiling even wider.

“I think you’re  _ annoying, _ ” Steve shoots back, but with no visual effect. Instead, Bucky just bites his lip a little before leaning in even further, fingers loose around the bottleneck in his hand.

“I think  _ you’re _ pretty,” he purrs, and Jesus, did Steve actually hear that right?

“Well,  _ I _ think you’ve had enough to drink,” he blubbers out, and Bucky tips his head back, laughing out loud.

“C’mon, I can’t call my own boyfriend pretty?” he asks with a smirk. “Then how about handsome? Smart?  _ Charming... _ ?”

“I— I don’t—”

“I know, I know, you don’t think you’re any of those things,” Bucky says with a dismissive wave. “You need to get that out of your system, pal. I’m telling you, you’re not nearly as hard on the eyes as you think you are.”

This conversation is quickly heading in a direction that’s making Steve feel as if he is going to spontaneously burst into flames at any second. He has absolutely no idea of how to respond to something like that. Bucky thinks he’s  _ pretty? _ Handsome?  _ Charming? _ Of course, a guy could call another guy any or all of those things without it actually having to  _ mean  _ anything, but… Does Bucky really think about him like that? Or is he just drunk?

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs while trying not to think about the heat creeping up his cheeks as Bucky’s eyes give a satisfied little glint in return.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky murmurs back. Steve can’t remember; does Bucky normally flirt with him like this? Is this how the two of them always sound to other people, or is it just the acting? 

For some reason he feels like he would have noticed it if Bucky actually flirted with him this much every time they met, but he’s not sure. Bucky is an excellent conman, and a near-perfect liar, but even though he’s Steve’s best friend, Steve still hasn’t figured out how to differentiate the mock-flirting from the real deal.

Can it be that Wanda and Tony are right? Standing by the sidelines, the two of them have been able to see the whole playing field for years, including all the players on it, giving them an objective view of the situation. Have they both seen something that Steve himself has missed? Is it really possible…? Does Bucky actually  _ like  _ him?

“Shit, is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?” Bucky grunts while pulling at his collar.

“It is a bit stuffy,” Steve agrees quietly.

“Yeah, you know what, screw this…”

Steve watches as Bucky reaches up and pulls at the knot of his tie, and he swallows hard when the long strip of silk comes slithering off from around Bucky’s neck with only a minor amount of resistance. Bucky folds the discarded tie up and shoves it into the inner pocket of his jacket, before undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and letting out a relieved sigh.

Steve doesn’t know where to look. In less than ten seconds, Bucky has somehow gone from James Bond straight to American Gigolo, and Steve is panicking, because now there are collarbones, and skin, and tendons, and oh, lord have mercy…!

“Ah, that’s much better,” Bucky groans as he rolls his neck and shoulders, as if he has just been relieved of the world’s heaviest weight. 

“You do look a lot more relaxed,” Steve says with a slight gulp.

“Yeah, I don’t get how you can stand wearing a noose like that around your neck every single day.”

“Habit, I guess,” Steve mumbles.

“Yeah, that’s gotta be it.” Bucky looks at him, and then his gaze drops to the side, right next to Steve’s ear.

“Hold on, you’ve got something…” He leans forward, almost far enough to balance on the edge of his seat, and Steve’s breath catches in the back of his throat when Bucky’s hand comes up to pluck something off his collar. He feels warm fingers ghost against his neck, just below the ear, and his entire body gives a violent shudder against his will. 

Bucky is  _ so close. _

Steve can smell his aftershave; a dark, sort of coffee inspired scent that’s probably as much perfume as it is just purely Bucky. His gaze drops to trail down Bucky’s cheekbones and jaw to rest upon the curve of his lower lip, and god, Steve wants to lean in and kiss him again. Wants to feel the touch of those lips against his, the taste of Bucky’s mouth, hot and sweet and...  _ Right. There _ .

Steve can feel himself leaning, falling forward without being able to stop himself. His eyes close, and his gut curls in on itself while he waits for the sensation of breath against his mouth, when suddenly the loud, piercing clink of silver against glass makes him snap out of it.

He yanks himself backwards, praying that Bucky hadn’t noticed what he had been about to do. Thankfully, he appears to have gotten away undetected as Bucky simply turns in his seat to seek out the source of the new sound.

It turns out that the one responsible is Wanda’s father, and once the room has fallen silent, he turns towards the newlyweds to hold the wedding’s first speech. Bucky and Steve listen politely along with the other guests, and Steve is relieved that Bucky seems to have decided to keep his hands to himself again, at least for the time being. 

It’s a good speech; Wanda cries, Jarvis receives a fond hug, and afterwards the toastmaster – namely Pietro – stands up to announce that the cake is about to be served.

Wanda and Jarvis cut the cake in front of their guests and lovingly feed each other the pieces. No one gets smeared in the face, even by accident, and once the bride and groom have gotten their servings, the catering personnel appears in order to tend to the other guests. 

The cake, unfortunately, turns out to be delicious, and the appreciative, moaning little noises Bucky makes as his lips closes around his first forkful does horrible things to Steve’s self control.

More speeches are made, including one by Jarvis’ sister, and another one by Brock. The sister’s speech is just as adorable as Steve would have imagined it would be, sticking to the traditional formulary of how much she loves her brother and how she wishes both him and Wanda all the best in the future.

Brock, on the other hand, takes his speech to a more… blunt level. It’s not surprising – after all, what else would people have expected from someone like Brock? – and Steve has to admit that the man manages to perform relatively well. People laugh at the jokes, and even Steve himself finds a few of the oneliners fairly amusing. Bucky on the other hand, spends the entire time trying to hide his amused snorts behind even louder, more condescending ones.

At one point, when Brock gives Jarvis the less vague version of the ‘shovel talk’ than the original, Bucky leans over and puts his lips so close to Steve’s ear that Steve can feel his breath tickle to the base of his neck.

“Nothing against your taste in guys, but it takes a special kinda fella to stand up at a wedding and threaten to punch the groom in the face.” 

Steve tries, but fails, to hold back a stifled snort, and he quickly bows his head to hide his amused grin from the other guests. Bucky in turn decides to hide his own amusement by pushing his face against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve tenses up at the sudden touch, bracing himself for more. However, as he feels the soft tremors of Bucky’s barely contained laughter reverberate through his chest, he relaxes. 

The purpose of Bucky’s gesture seems to be purely platonic, and Steve finds himself relishing in the few seconds of intimate warmth that he gets from Bucky’s body where it seeps through the fabric of his suit jacket. It’s a nice feeling that lasts almost an entire fifteen seconds before Bucky pulls away again, straightening up to leave Steve feeling cool in the aftermath.

Once the cake has been reduced to nothing but crumbs and thick smears of ganache upon the giant serving tray (a feat Bucky helps accomplish by going back for seconds, twice) the time has come for the couple’s first dance.

Jarvis leads Wanda onto the dancefloor while the lights dim, and a soft piano intro comes streaming out from the wall mounted speakers high above them. It’s beautiful, and Wanda’s dress billows iconically as Jarvis twirls her around during the first chorus of the song. After the dance is over (and both the bride’s and groom’s mothers have blown their noses at least twice) the couple switches, handing over their partner to their respective mother and father.

Other couples soon join in, filling up the empty spaces of the floor in pairs. It’s a soothing display, and Steve is perfectly content with the thought of just staying where he is, watching it, when suddenly Bucky stands up from his chair, turns towards him, and offers him his hand. 

“May I have this dance?”  

Steve blinks. He stares at the hand held out in front of his face, then back up at Bucky. Bucky’s expression is dead serious; the usual, mischievous gleam of his eyes nowhere to be seen. Instead he has a searching, almost pleading look on his face, and Steve realizes with a tight clench to his chest that he would sooner stab himself in the leg with a cake fork than to turn that face down.

The touch of Bucky’s hand is so warm when Steve takes it that he’s scared that it’s going to leave permanent burns on his skin. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he gets clammy hands when he gets nervous, and as Bucky leads him out onto the dance floor, he curses himself for not having wiped his palms off on his pants first.

Another ballad starts, and Bucky turns onto Steve, pulling him in tight as he presses his hands against Steve’s lower back. Steve in turn reaches up with his hands fumbling over Bucky’s shoulders to clumsily reciprocated the action. Luckily, the new song isn’t a waltz, because Steve doesn’t have the presence of mind required to dance to anything that demands any form of concentration, even less counting steps.

He can feel Bucky’s body press up against his, feel the hands on his back, holding him close as the two of them slowly sway from side to side. The side of Bucky’s head is leaning against his temple, and the scent of the Bucky’s hair and skin is thick in Steve’s nostrils, making him want to inhale it until he feels as if his lungs are about to burst. His own fingers clench around the edges of Bucky’s shoulder blades, and he is certain that Bucky must be able to feel the hard beat of his heart where their chests push together. 

From over Bucky’s shoulder, he sees Wanda and Pietro are dancing and talking with each other a few feet to his right. As he watches, Wanda looks his way, catches his gaze with a quirk of a smile as she gives him a quick thumbs up, before Pietro spins her around and out of Steve’s peripheral vision.

Steve swallows hard, his nerves making his breath shake as he raises his head from its perch on Bucky’s shoulder, and then Bucky is suddenly kissing him.

It comes without warning, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath through his nose when he feels Bucky’s lips smother his. Bucky kisses him just like he did before; with heat, passion and other, horrible, wonderful things that Steve had not been able to discern back then. Things like desire. Want. Need. 

This time, Steve knows that Bucky isn’t kissing him to impress or prove anyone wrong. It’s not an act for an audience – had it ever been – and when Bucky adds a tentative press of his tongue to the kiss, Steve opens up willingly beneath the pressure.

Bucky’s thumb swipes across the back of Steve's neck, fingers trailing up his collar, all the way up to his hair. The touch makes Steve shudder, and he moans into the kiss, his entire body throbbing with the heady little noise coming from the back of Bucky’s throat when the other man moans back.

Just like that, with that one little sound, the world around them comes rushing back in; a giant tidal wave of icy, dark water that shocks the daze out of Steve’s system. All of a sudden the music becomes too loud, the dimmed lights too bright as the realization of what they’re actually doing slams into Steve’s brain like a runaway freight train. 

They shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t  _ want  _ to do this, either of them. He feels his knees buckle as the panic makes it impossible to stay upright. He has to get out, he has to  _ move. _

“I’m sorry—” Fuck, he can’t talk; his voice coming out raw and almost mute. “I can’t— I have to—”

He doesn’t wait for Bucky to respond. He just shoves himself out of Bucky’s arms, turning on the spot and  half-runs out of the room with no other goal than to get away. Away , as quickly as possible, from Bucky and his hands, his face, and those beautiful, terrifying grey eyes of his.

He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going, passing by people in his path as swiftly and efficiently as he can muster without bumping into anyone. He doesn’t stop until he eventually finds himself alone, his refuge being a small room just beyond the kitchen area. He doesn’t know exactly how he ends up there, or if he’s even allowed inside, but he also doesn’t really care. Not even bothering with turning the lights on, he stumbles through the doorway and shuts the door behind him, leaving the room in total darkness apart from the faint light streaming in through the closed blinds of the windows. He can hear chatter through the wall as the catering personnel carries out their duties on the other side of it, but other than that, he’s alone.

He collapses against the wall as he feels his mental barriers crumble to the ground. His heart is pounding, and he’s hyperventilating, breath rushing in and out of his chest at such a pace that he can’t keep up with it. He’s losing the grip around himself, suddenly scared out of his mind as he fumbles for his inhaler and fires a double dose of the bitter medicine down his throat. 

He knows that he should care more about the fact that he just left his best friend  _ (yourbestfriendhesyourbestfriend) _ alone and abandoned in the middle of the dance floor, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Not now, not like this, with Bucky’s touch and taste still so fresh in his memory.

Vaguely aware that he’s shaking, he reaches up and buries his face in his hands. He can already feel a sob of frustrated confusion tear at his vocal chords when the door from which he had entered mere seconds ago, swings wide open.

“Steve? Stevie, you in here?”

Bucky spots him before Steve has a chance to answer – or flee for that matter. The moment Bucky’s gaze settles on Steve’s slumped posture against the wall, Bucky closes the door behind him, eyes wet with worry. Not hurt, not anger, just  _ worry _ , and for some reason, Steve hates him for it.

“Stevie, what happened?” Bucky asks as he comes up to clutch around Steve’s trembling shoulder. “Did I do something wrong?”

Steve grits his teeth, curling in on himself. Something  _ wrong _ ? Is there even a correct answer to that question?

“Bucky, please,” he whimpers. “I can’t. Not now.”

“You can’t what?” Bucky begs as he pulls at Steve’s shoulders to make him come closer. “C’mon, Stevie, talk to me.”

“Don’t  _ touch me! _ ”

Bucky’s hand releases Steve’s body as if Steve’s words were a physical punch to the face. He backs away, eyes wide, and yes, there it is. The  _ hurt. _ And it cuts into Steve’s heart like a knife as he hangs his head down, closing his eyes.

“Why did you have to go and  _ touch _ me…?” 

Bucky’s face drops, a sudden realization settling over his features like a shadow.

“I—” He swallows as he cuts himself off momentarily, before continuing shakily, “I thought you wanted— I mean, you kissed me back, didn’t you? That wasn’t just me, you actually kissed me  _ back _ .”

“I know,” Steve whines.

“You ‘know’?” Bucky asks while canting his head down to catch Steve’s gaze. “What does that even mean, ‘you know’?”

“It’s—” Steve pleads while desperately searching for words. “Bucky, I don’t—”

“Because if you didn’t want to kiss me, then why did you?”

“I never said I didn’t want to,” Steve hisses, glaring up at him. “I never said that.”

“Then why the hell are you freaking out?” Bucky demands, voice hardening. “What did I miss?”

“Are you seriously telling me that you don’t see  _ anything wrong  _ with this picture?” Steve exclaims. “You don’t see  _ anything wrong _ with the fact that you’re my best friend, and that I’ve done  _ nothing  _ but spend the night trying to tell myself that kissing you didn’t bother me?”

“What do you mean ‘ _ bothered you _ ’?” Bucky snaps. “If it freaked you out so much— Dammit, Steve, why didn’t you  _ say  _ anything?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Steve grates, and he hears Bucky let out a disbelieving snort in return.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” he mutters. “God… I feel like a fucking— Like a goddamn jerk, you realize that right? You’re telling me I practically  _ forced  _ myself on you out there, and you didn’t—”

“Bucky,  _ I liked it! _ ”

Bucky’s mouth shuts with a muted clack of teeth, and Steve chokes back a frustrated whimper.

“I  _ liked it _ when you kissed me,” he hisses – begging,  _ pleading  _ for Bucky to understand. “I  _ liked it _ when you had your hands on me, when you  _ touched _ me, and that’s the  _ problem _ , don’t you get that? Bucky, you’re my best friend, and I can’t—”

Steve closes his eyes, turning his face away. He can’t watch it. It hurts too much; to watch the moment where he’ll lose his best friend forever.

“You offered to come with me and pretend to be my boyfriend in front of all these people,” he says quietly. “The problem is… you acted the part so well, and now I’m not sure if I want you to stop…”

He waits. The silence of the room is thick enough to suffocate him, and he can feel his heart chink and break with each passing second.

“Who said I was acting?”

Steve drags such a sharp breath into his lungs that it actually hurts. He looks up, staring as he seeks out Bucky’s eyes in the dark.

“Steve, I—” Bucky cuts himself off. When he speaks again, Steve can hear the tremble in his voice. “First of all, I want to make it perfectly clear that when I offered to come with you tonight, is was to help you out. As a  _ friend _ . I never meant for this to happen, not  _ like  _ this… but I’m not gonna stand here and lie by saying that I didn’t have hopes.”

Steve opens his mouth, but Bucky intercepts him.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you about this for years,” he whispers. “But I’ve been too scared to actually do it. I told myself that having you around as a friend would be better than to— To come clean and tell you the truth.”

“Bucky, please…”

“Steve, I love you.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, once again struggling to breathe.

“I love you,” Bucky repeats, louder. “I’ve been in love with you since forever.”

Steve can hear Bucky step closer, and he steels himself, pressing back against the wall so hard, he’s sure that he’s going to end up crashing straight through it.

“I’ve tried dating,” Bucky confesses. “I’ve really tried, but I can’t stop comparing them all to you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Steve, and believe it or not, this is the first date in nearly three years that I don’t want to end.”

Bucky goes quiet, waiting. Steve doesn’t know what to say. After a confession like that… How does Bucky expect him to—  

“I don’t want to ruin anything,” he breathes. “Our friendship… Bucky, we don’t have to— We can still fix this.”

“Steve, nothing’s broken,” Bucky insists. “There’s nothing  _ to  _ fix. I love you, and if you’re telling the truth about what you felt back there… I mean, we could be so  _ great _ together. Christ, Stevie, you must have thought the same, at least  _ once? _ ”

Steve opens his mouth, and then he closes it.

He can’t answer. He can’t think; he needs time – needs space.

He pushes himself off the wall, past the pain in Bucky’s pleading eyes, aiming for the door. His hand finds the doorknob as his fingers slip on the cool metal when they grasp around it, cracking the door open.

“Steve…” Bucky’s voice is weak, and Steve hates the fact that he doesn’t have to turn around to know that there are tears in his best friend’s eyes.

“Steven, please.  _ Please _ , don’t do this.”

Steve hesitates. His throat hurts; dry and rough like sandpaper, with a thick lump in the centre of it that threatens to choke him. 

He can turn around. 

Bucky is right there,  _ asking  _ him to stay. 

He can  _ stay. _

Something wet burns behind his eyelids as he forces them to close, and he takes a deep, shaky breath, swallowing down the croak in his voice.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers. 

As he steps outside, he tells himself that the pain erupting inside his chest doesn’t have anything to do with the broken sound Bucky makes when Steve shuts the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> As usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I do my best to respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	4. With This Kiss

Steve more-or-less staggers back to the reception hall. The music has changed; now playing some upbeat tune while the people on the dance floor jive away to the rhythm in groups of two or more. 

Making a beeline towards the door on the opposite side of the room leading to the lobby, Steve probably bumps into at least ten other guests on the way, but he doesn’t stop to apologize. 

His vision is blurry, his knees shaking, and he needs to get out. To get away from this place and everything it stands for. 

Reaching the lobby, he is already thinking about how he’s going to have to call Wanda in the morning to explain his sudden departure, when his shoulder suddenly shoves into someone, sending him stumbling.

“Steve?”

It’s Tony. 

“Steve, what’s wrong?”

Tony’s voice shifts, going from surprised to worried in a single breath. Steve just keeps moving towards the exit without even looking at him.

“I have to go,” he croaks, already reaching for the door handle. “I have to leave, I— I’ll call you, or something, just— Not now, Tony, please.”

Rushing out the door, he flees the scene, leaving Tony gaping in the hallway behind him. He has no idea if Tony makes any attempt to follow him or call him back as he heads across the parking lot, aiming for the road and sidewalk beyond. All he hears is the deafening boom of his heart beating; the rush of his ragged breathing loud enough to drown out the sound of his own footsteps as he bolts from the premises. He even makes it three whole blocks down the street before he realizes, cursing under his breath, that he’s forgotten his suit jacket back at the venue. 

He’s phoneless, wallet-less, and even though the heat of the day still lingers in the warm night air, he’s still shaking and trembling furiously. He wraps his arms around his chest as he hunches over by the side of the road in a final attempt to gather himself.

What the hell just happened back there? Oh, god, what did he  _ do _ ?

He feels like he is going to throw up, his stomach churning. It’s not due to the alcohol; he hadn’t even finished the second beer Bucky had brought him earlier. No, this is because of literally everything else. Anxiety, fear, confusion… The onslaught is pulling his insides together in cramping convulsions, forcing his breath out in short, ragged gasps.

He can’t go back, but he has no idea where else to go. He’s over an hour away by car from his house, and both his wallet and phone are still in his jacket, so even if he could call a cab, he still wouldn’t be able to pay for one. It’s with a wince that he also remembers that Bucky still has the key to their hotel room, so he won’t even be able to get his things out of there without his help either.

Then again, at least the hotel lobby will be indoors. Perhaps Steve would be able to convince the personnel to let him rent another room for the night? He could pay for it in the morning when he’s, hopefully, gotten his wallet back… If anyone is still up and working, that is. It’s a cheap hotel, and Steve remembers reading something about the front desk only being manned during certain hours of the day. It’s a Saturday night though, so they might be open a bit longer than usual, if he’s lucky.

After a few moments of wavering, he grudgingly decides that he might as well start walking. The hotel is only a ten-, maybe twenty-minute walk away from where he is. He’ll figure out what to do next once he gets back indoors. After all, it’s not as if he has much of a choice, unless he wants to spend the rest of the night out here. 

Clasping his arms tighter around himself, Steve sets down the street, taking a left turn down a nearby alleyway to cut through the curve of the road, saving time. God bless the fact that he’s been born with such a good sense of direction – or at least enough sense to memorize the way from the hotel to the venue…

There’s not another human in sight, the night empty apart from himself. Not even the city itself seems to make any sound where he trudges down the street, and the silence leaves his mind echoing with his own thoughts no matter how hard he tries to shut them out. 

They hurt, both his head and his chest, like needles pricking and stabbing his insides while the memory of Bucky’s wounded voice, stuck on repeat, keeps rolling through his brain.

_ Steven, please… Please… _

Bucky had sounded so… lonely. When was the last time Steve had heard him use a voice like that? Not even when Bucky had gotten stood up that time back in high school had he used that tone; as if he’d just gotten his heart torn out of his chest and stomped on.

And the way Bucky had said his name. Steven… Not  _ Stevie _ , this time, no. 

_ Steven.  _

Since the first time they’d met, he’d always been ‘Stevie’ to Bucky; from the very get-go, it had always been ‘Stevie’. Teasingly, worriedly, proudly, fondly… 

In hindsight, he supposes, ‘Stevie’ has always been Bucky’s pet name for him… Not ‘baby’, or ‘sweetheart’… 

Fuck, there are so many things; so many tiny little things that Steve’s never noticed before that suddenly hold such different meanings.

To think about all the times Bucky has complimented him throughout the years. Not just for his looks – something Steve has never understood the notion of – but his wit and personality in general. 

All the times Bucky has jokingly pushed him away, complaining about the lack of personal space, about Steve being way too close… Had he done that because being too close to Steve had given him the same tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach that Bucky had given Steve’s tonight?

Suddenly, it’s like the memories are racing each other to reach his consciousness first. Like that time Bucky had taken time off work just to help Steve move into his new apartment. Or that time he had bought new parts for Steve’s T.V. when it broke down, fixing it without ever accepting Steve’s offer to pay him back for the trouble. The many times Bucky had given him rides to and from work, even when it meant that Bucky had to get up almost two hours earlier than usual just to get Steve to the office on time. 

It hits Steve like a sledgehammer to the chest that their friendship somewhere along the line had turned into a single, never-ending date. One where Bucky had given Steve everything he could possibly think of just to get his attention. His approval and affection. And Steve hadn’t even realized.

The thought causes another memory to rise to the surface, like a bubble through dark, murky waters. The memory of Bucky’s smiling face, slowly turning strained and disappointed before Steve’s eyes; that valiant curve of his lips, keeping up appearances. It’s the memory of the day Steve had announced to Bucky that he and Brock were officially dating. 

He remembers the way Bucky had turned away, dramatically throwing his hands out to the side and announcing that dammit, now Steve would never get to know what it would be like to have him as a boyfriend. Your loss, buddy, haha. Joke, joke. Laugh, laugh.

How many other jokes like that has Bucky told him over the years? And how many of those have not really been jokes at all?

Dammit, how could Steve not have seen it? How could he have been so  _ blind _ , all this time?!

It’s all so  _ clear,  _ now.

Bucky, volunteering to be his fake date; helping him when he needed someone to be there for him, no matter how ridiculous his situation had sounded.

Bucky, kissing him in front of his ex to get him out of a tough situation, even though he knew Steve just thought it was an act. Even though it had probably hurt him in ways Steve can’t even imagine. 

Bucky, whose hands had been so warm on his skin; Bucky, who chews the inside of his cheeks when he’s nervous; Has the world’s sappiest pickup-lines; The world’s deepest eyes, and a smile that can light up the entire globe. 

Bucky with the heart of gold. 

His best friend.

And sure, having Bucky around has always made Steve happy, he’s not going to deny that. They’re  _ friends _ ; why  _ wouldn’t  _ Bucky make him happy?

So what if the sight of Bucky’s caller ID lighting up the screen of his phone never fails to make him smile? Or the fact that Steve sometimes asks Bucky to come over to his place, just for the sake of having him there? Or that the best nights he can remember are the ones where he and Bucky had watched some old movie together, and their legs had tangled with one another’s where they were, sprawled out on either end of Steve’s couch. 

Or that his heart has always done this weird somersault inside his chest whenever Bucky tells a dirty joke, or pretends to flirt with him  _ (jokejokelaughlaugh) _ as if he’s actually considering the possibility of them eventually becoming something more? 

It’s not weird to enjoy the platonic touch, humour, and company of a dear friend. Right?

Though, he supposes that it  _ is  _ considered weird to like the  _ not- _ so-platonic touch and company of that very same friend. Like he has tonight. 

Bucky touching him. Kissing him. Bucky telling him he loves him… 

Steve had really, really liked that. A lot. Even though it had also scared him senseless. 

After all, why shouldn't it scare him? They’re  _ friends _ , for Christ’s sake. Have  _ always  _ been friends! People aren’t  _ supposed  _ to fall in love with their best friends; that’s for fairy tales and fiction only.

Then again, as long as Bucky feels the same way, perhaps that swirling feeling in the pit of Steve’s stomach isn’t such a bad thing. If Bucky… likes him.  _ Loves  _ him, as he claimed to… then, maybe?

He thinks about Bucky’s smile – of his knee brushing against Steve’s at the dinner table. The warmth of Bucky’s hand, spreading through his body, his chest… 

Maybe Steve likes Bucky too…?

Maybe, he actually… loves him.

Oh, that thought feels strange. Foreign; as if he’s contemplating breaking the law or something.

But it doesn’t feel  _ wrong _ .

“I love him…” Steve murmurs, and as he tastes the sound of the word on his tongue, he feels a tingle spark low in his gut. “I love him,” he says again, louder, and the tingle rises into a quiver. 

Love. He actually— Jesus Christ, how could he not have realized that? He’s been in love before, he knows what it feels like, to feel sexual and emotional attraction to someone, why hasn’t he—? 

It’s because of the kiss, he decides. It has to be. 

Steve has never thought about Bucky in a sexual way before tonight; at least not in a sexual way that involves Bucky and himself in a  _ shared  _ situation. Then Bucky had swooped in and ended up giving Steve a taste of that world, quite literally, with that one blissful kiss.

Whether Bucky had intended to or not, that kiss had been Steve’s undoing; awakening thoughts and anticipation that he hadn’t even been aware existed before. Or hadn’t allowed himself to feel… 

Perhaps he should turn around. Head back. He could talk to Bucky, sort this mess out. Bucky might listen, he might give Steve a second chance.

The thought makes his heart flutter. A second chance. A chance to – maybe, if Bucky wanted to – set things right.

Steve shakes his head. No, no, it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing he can say or do about their situation at this point. Bucky is probably angry, or too hurt to even stand the sight of him right now. 

They can talk tomorrow, maybe, but not now, not tonight. Right now, Steve just wants to get back to the hotel and  _ sleep _ . Sleep, and wish that when he wakes up, things will have miraculously cleared themselves up without him.

He rounds a final corner, and is relieved to find that the hotel sign is still shining it’s light onto the pavement in front of him. God, he really hopes someone is still manning the front desk.

The lobby is dimmed down when he walks through the front doors, but his hopes of receiving any help quickly die as he notices that the reception has already closed for the night. The only person in sight is a man in a black overcoat sitting hunched down on a bench next to the elevators, fingers laced between his knees, and Steve doesn’t— 

He stops, mid step, eyes widening at the same time as the man looks up, alerted by the sound of the door. 

It’s Bucky. 

Their eyes meet, and Bucky is on his feet faster than Steve would have been willing to bet a human being could move. Bucky takes a few, hurried strides towards him, but then he stops, as if he had just realized that perhaps Steve might not want him to come any closer.

For a moment, Steve is overwhelmed by the urge to turn tail and run; to flee the same way he had come, but he resolutely wills himself to stand his ground. 

Bucky is looking at him; visibly torn between keeping his distance and moving closer. Steve can see the red rims around Bucky’s eyes all the way from where he stands, and remorse immediately begins to twist itself through his chest like a venomous snake while spreading numbing pain from the inside out. 

Bucky opens his mouth, as if he wants to say something, but even though nothing comes out, Steve can still see the plea in the silent slump of his shoulders. 

This is not a confrontation. 

It’s a request. 

Jesus, Bucky is  _ begging  _ him.

Steve inhales deeply, strengthening his resolve. Then he walks the short distance across the lobby before coming to a halt a few steps in front of Bucky’s feet.

“How did you get here so fast?” he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. Bucky’s eyes flicker to the floor. 

“My car,” he answers simply, and Steve whips his head up to stare at him.

“You  _ drove _ ?” he asks, disbelieved. “Bucky, you’ve been  _ drinking, _ you could have—!”

“I didn’t drive,” Bucky says with a sigh. He sounds tired. Exhausted. “Tony did.”

“Tony?” Steve blinks. 

“Yeah…” Bucky mumbles. “Apparently, he has this big meeting tomorrow, so he hasn’t been drinking tonight. He told me— He said you left the party, and I… I couldn’t just stay there and do nothing, you know?”

“Oh.” Steve swallows, forcing himself not to look away. 

“Yeah…” Bucky repeats slowly, and he glances up at Steve briefly before quickly averting his gaze again. “I didn’t know where to look for you,” he continues in a murmur. “Tony drove around for a while, but we… We couldn’t find you.”  

He shifts his weight, turning around to pick something up from the bench he had been sitting on. “I tried calling your phone, but… yeah…” He holds Steve’s jacket out for Steve to take, leaving his sentence unfinished. “I left a message,” he says. “You don’t have to listen to it. I mean, not unless you want to…”

Steve accepts the garment from Bucky’s outstretched hand. He feels the weight of his cell phone in the inner pocket as if it had been a brick, and no matter how hard he tries, he’s unable to look Bucky in the eye as his fingers close around the dark fabric. 

He feels like the worst human being in existence. Bucky had been so worried about him…  

Staring down at the jacket in his hands, he wonders what would have happened if Tony hadn’t been there tonight. If he hadn’t been there to see Steve leave. If Bucky in his distress had decided to drive the Mustang back to the hotel by himself, not paying attention to the road, under influence… 

All because Steve couldn’t handle something as simple, and undeniably honest, as a kiss.

He licks his lips, closing his eyes. 

He’s been such a fool.

“Steve, I—”

“Bucky.”

Steve looks up, and Bucky obediently closes his mouth at the solemn tone of Steve’s voice.

“I think…” Steve starts slowly. “I think that I’d like to go to the room now…”

Bucky’s shoulders slump. With dejection weighing his movements down, he slowly puts his hand inside the pocket of his overcoat, pulls out the room key, and offers it to Steve without even looking at him.

Steve watches the key dangle from the little numbered keyring in Bucky’s hand, knowing that he still has the choice to take it. Bucky would sleep in the Mustang, no questions asked. 

Which is also the exact opposite of what Steve wants.

“With you,” he adds firmly, and the mournful expression on Bucky’s face shifts from sorrow to confusion in one second flat. Steve responds by tiling his head slightly to the side, and holding Bucky’s gaze, he steps towards the elevator, leaving the key hanging – ignored – in the feeble grip of Bucky’s fingers.

As Steve presses the call button on the elevator panel, he hears Bucky timidly step up to stand behind him. He’s keeping his distance, but at least he’s following, which is a start.

The elevator ride up is silent. 

_ Completely  _ silent. 

It’s the kind of silence that makes simple breathing sound like hurricane winds. It causes the slow shift of one’s weight from one foot to the other to transform into the rumble as of an earthquake, crude and deafening. When they reach their floor, the doors open up with a ping that normally would have been soft, but which now cuts through the air like a blade. It startles a breath Steve hadn’t even been aware of that he was holding right out of his chest. 

He steps out, and Bucky follows, head bent down towards the floor. While they walk down the corridor, Steve hears Bucky drag for breath several times, as if he wants to say something, but no words ever come.

Arriving at their room, Bucky unlocks the door with a deafening jingle of the key, allowing Steve to step inside first. Steve can feel Bucky’s eyes on the back of his neck, and he hears Bucky’s footsteps follow him inside before the lock automatically clicks itself shut behind them when the door closes.  

Steve stops, waiting, trying to compel his limbs to quit shaking as he hears Bucky drag in yet another breath. When he finally speaks, his voice sounds raw and throaty in the silence between them.

“Listen, Steve, I never meant to—”

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to say anything more than that.

The moment the first syllable passes Bucky's lips, Steve turns around. He raises his hands to cradle the sides of Bucky’s face as he presses his mouth hard against his best friend’s, pushing Bucky right up against the closed door.

Bucky goes rigid. His hands shoot up to clasp around the edges of Steve’s shoulders in what could be panicked bewilderment, as if he’s not quite sure if he should be pushing Steve away or pull him closer. Steve makes the decision for him, and as he himself pulls back just a little, Bucky looks nearly cross eyed with confusion.

“I need to ask you something,” Steve whispers as he presses his lips against the side of Bucky’s neck, closing his eyes when he feels Bucky nod. “How long have you thought about kissing me like that? Like you did back there on the dance floor?”

Bucky’s jaw works against the palm of Steve's hands as he swallows, struggling to find his voice again.

“I—I don’t know…” he stutters, his voice brittle. “Just… Long enough to feel like a coward for not doing it sooner.”

Steve breathes in, and then breathes out as he allows his fingers to slip down the front of Bucky’s shirt to trail along the cotton edge of the white vee covering Bucky’s clavicle. 

“Have you thought of…  _ more  _ than just kissing me?” he asks quietly, and Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to breathe properly.

“Have you?” Steve insists, nuzzling the question against the side of Bucky’s neck like a plea.

“I may have…” Bucky grates out. Then his voice turns thick as he continues to gasp out, “Jesus, Stevie—”

Steve hums approvingly, and he angles his head to ghost his lips against the crook of Bucky’s neck. He’s so nervous, he feels as if he’s about to crawl out of his own skin, but the sound of Bucky’s hitched breath is motivation enough to keep him going.

“Where are we?” he asks, almost breathlessly as he presses himself closer. “When you think about us, what are we doing?”

“W—We’re… We’re in your apartment,” Bucky gulps, the words tumbling over each other in his shock and hurry to oblige. “In the living room. We’re on the couch, and… you’re on top of me, you— Fuck, you have your hand down the front of my jeans…”

Steve moans, and he pressed his lips against a spot just below Bucky’s ear as the mental image sears its way through his brain, etching itself across the inside of his closed eyelids.

“Would you like me to do that to you?” he whispers, and Bucky’s fingers give a violent twitch against his shoulders as the question leaves his mouth. 

“We could do it on the bed…” Steve coaxes. His hand trail lower, fingers tentatively catching on the edges of the white buttons of Bucky’s shirt on their way down, until they finally come to a rest atop the buckle of the other’s belt. “You and me, Buck,” he begs. “Right now, just like you said. Don’t you want that?”

“Are you serious?” Bucky whines, almost pained. “If this is some kind of a joke— If you don’t really want to, I—”

“Bucky, I think I love you.”

Bucky stills, and Steve can hear the hiss as Bucky sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a very long time, and I didn’t even realize until tonight,” Steve rasps. His voice is trembling, hand shaking against Bucky’s cheek as he forces himself to continue. “You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember… and right now I’m willing to risk all of that for the chance of us turning into something more. It’s scaring the living hell out of me, so please, don’t make me beg for this… I honestly don’t think I have the courage it would take to do that.”

He feels Bucky swallow; the bob of his Adam’s apple almost audible in Steve’s ears with how close they are to each other.

“I don’t—” Bucky starts, cutting himself off with a low whimper. “Are you sure?” he says instead.

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to do it for my sake,” Bucky objects with a dismayed cringe that’s audible in his voice. “Steve, if this is coming from guilt, or because you’re feeling  _ sorry  _ for me, then I don’t want it.”

“It’s not,” Steve promises bitterly. “In fact, this is probably the most selfish thing I’ve ever done in my life.” He grits his teeth as he presses his forehead down against the top of Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky,  _ please… _ ”

Bucky lets out a whimper, the noise sounding like a choked sob as it leaves his throat. The hand on Steve’s right shoulder twitches, and then it begins to move, descending down Steve’s arm in short, shaky movements until it eventually slides around to press itself against his lower back.

Steve can feel Bucky’s chest heave against his, and the hands on his body shake as Bucky slowly angles his head closer. His lips brush against the corner of Steve’s mouth. Timid. Scared.

_ Is this okay? _ the touch asks.  _ Can I really…? _ and Steve’s entire body shakes out a silent, but breathless,  _ Yes!  _ in return. 

Finally, Bucky’s mouth finds his, lips moving slow as they press a soft, searching kiss against Steve’s own. Still asking permission. Still doubting their right to do what they’re already doing… until the moment when suddenly they’re not.

Just like that, Bucky’s hand abruptly tightens against Steve’s back to pull him in with a breathless sigh as Bucky deepens the kiss into something harder, something fast and urgent. Steve feels himself get pushed back as Bucky leans his entire weight on him to spin them around, until Steve is shoved up against the wall next to the door, his moan swallowed up by the hungry press of Bucky’s mouth.

“Again,” Bucky growls, making Steve’s knees buckle when he nips at his lips. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” Steve gasps as his hand slips from Bucky’s jaw to clutch at the side of his neck instead. “Bucky… God, Bucky,  _ I love you… _ ”

Bucky groans, and then his other hand finally joins the game by burying itself in Steve’s hair, altering between carding through and fisting the strands with eager fingers.

Steve feels a knee push in between his legs as the solid frame of Bucky’s body rocks against his, trapping him against the wall. The spark that sears through his brain when he feels the hard jut of Bucky’s cock rub against his thigh through their clothes makes him gasp, shocking him out of his momentary daze.

His hand is still clutching hard around Bucky’s belt, his fingers curled around the silvery buckle. Feeling the metal move against the palm of his hand when Bucky shoves his hips forward again, Steve makes a quick decision that the belt really has to go.   

He pushes back, trying to create enough space between them to actually get his hand free, but Bucky’s arms around him simply tightens, as if letting Steve go is something that scares Bucky half to death. It’s not until Steve gives the belt a hard tug while releasing a low, impatient growl against Bucky’s lip, that Bucky seems to realize his intentions and steps back.

Steve brings his other hand down to have it join forces with the one already working at the belt, and his fingers fumble as Bucky’s hips stutter against his palm and a soft groan reaches Steve’s ears.

He looks up, and for the first time since they left the lobby, he deliberately meets Bucky’s gaze. It’s dazed, foggy, and as his eyes lock onto Bucky’s own, Steve is once again struck by how incredibly beautiful they are. For just a split second, he stills. It’s not for long, but it’s more than enough to make the haze clear and cause his hand to drop to catch Steve around the wrist.

“Don’t stop,” Bucky begs shakily. “Please, Steve, don’t stop. Not now, I—”

“I’m not stopping,” Steve promises quickly. “I’m not.”

Bucky lets out a strained chuckle, high pitched with poorly concealed relief as he closes his eyes and hangs his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he groans. “I just… Fuck, it’s like I’m just waiting to wake up, you know?”

“This isn’t a dream, Buck,” Steve points out while tugging at the belt in his grasp for emphasis. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” Bucky asks, a hesitant smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Promise,” Steve repeats earnestly. Bucky nods, and slowly he allows his fingers to slip away from Steve’s wrist to trail up along his arm and shoulder, before moving down Steve’s torso. Steve watches in silence how Bucky reaches even further down, and his body shakes when the warmth of Bucky’s hand finally cups him through his suit pants, making him slump against the wall with a sigh.

Bucky’s breath fans against his neck, lips closing over Steve’s pulse, and Steve’s gripping Bucky’s belt buckle so tight he fears he might end up breaking it. 

“Shit…” he pants, hips rolling against the heat of Bucky’s palm, and Bucky rewards the action with a slow, torturously light squeeze.

“Bed?” he whispers hopefully, and Steve nods as he pushes himself off the wall without hesitation.

Bucky’s back bumps against the doorframe as they stumble the short paces through the hallway. Once they finally reach the actual  _ room _ , Steve decides that they have already been apart for far too long.

Going in for another kiss, another hurried touch, Steve presses himself as close to Bucky’s body as he possibly can without losing his balance, and his own body thrums with exhilaration when Bucky lets out a low, muffled groan against his lips.

Somehow, Steve manages to get Bucky’s overcoat off, even though Steve can’t remember letting go of Bucky long enough to pull the sleeves from his arms. He gets Bucky’s belt unbuckled just before they reach the closest of the room’s two beds, and seconds later, Steve’s tie comes off to land in a heap next to the bedside table.

Steve drops Bucky’s now-defeated belt to the floor with a light clang, and makes to remove his own when Bucky unceremoniously shoves him backwards. 

With a startled yelp, Steve lands on the mattress, and the mischievous grin on Bucky’s lips slowly morphs into a dirty leer as he leans forward to climb over Steve on all fours.

Steve watches wide-eyed as Bucky straddles him across the hips. The weight is comforting, as if Bucky’s body is something that’s always belonged on top of him, but Steve can’t help but to be horribly aware that Bucky’s ass is currently less than half an inch away from his own crotch. It’s a knowledge that makes staying still incredibly difficult.

Holding his breath, he remains unmoving while Bucky looks him up and down, fingers smoothing down the middle of Steve’s shirt in a slow, contemplating caress. Then Bucky’s lip pulls up into a dazed little smile that makes Steve want to pull him down and smother him with kisses.

“Man,” Bucky breathes, sounding almost awestruck. “This is so fucking surreal…”

Steve shudders as he feels the tip of Bucky’s fingers drag across his chest, slipping down his front and stomach, drawing lazy, intricate patterns over his torso. 

“So many times I’ve dreamt about getting to see you like this…” Bucky murmurs. “You don’t even know…” 

His hand, which has found the edge of Steve's previously tucked-in shirt, tentatively snakes it’s way in underneath it, and Steve sucks in his stomach with a sharp gasp at the first electric touch of fingers against his bared skin. 

“Do you have any idea how you look right now?” Bucky purrs, and the corner of his lip twitches up even further to reveal a flirtatious gleam of teeth. “Like you've been properly fucked six ways til Sunday already. God, the things you make me wanna do to you…”

Bucky licks his lips, and then his hands are slowly pushing Steve’s shirt up, fingertips brushing past Steve’s ribs in passing. Blunt nails scratch their way along his sides, and Steve buries the side of his face among the covers with a breathless groan, back arching from the bed.

“Jesus fuck, Steve…” Bucky chokes. The words barely have time to leave his mouth before he dives down to push his lips against Steve’s already parted ones with a noise that makes Steve’s hands come up to fist roughly at the back of Bucky’s shirt.

After that, it’s all desperate, needy, fumbling hands as their clothes start to come off, one garment at a time. Steve silently curses the fact that he had chosen to wear cufflinks, but somehow he still manages to get both them and the buttons off the cuff, enabling him to finally drag the shirt over his head. He watches Bucky repeat the same feat with his own shirt, abruptly bringing the sight of smooth muscles and chiseled abs into view.

It’s almost comical. Bucky has sauntered around shirtless in Steve’s apartment so many times – sometimes not even wearing anything but boxers – but this is the first time that Steve has been struck by how painfully  _ hot  _ Bucky is without his shirt on.

He doesn’t realize that he’s staring until Bucky turns his head to look at him, having tossed his own shirt aside. As he catches Steve’s eye, Bucky’s already parted lips curl into a bashful grin. 

“See something you like?” he asks, and even though he tries to sound cocky, Steve can still hear the nervous tremble in his voice. Steve slowly sits up, bracing himself on one elbow while gently splaying his other hand over the span of Bucky’s stomach, enjoying the way the action makes Bucky’s breath catch.

“Yes,” he says candidly, and his stomach stirs as he watches Bucky’s throat bob when he swallows with apprehension. “You’re still wearing too many clothes,” Steve points out, his hand already slipping down to trace along the faint happy trail of hair covering the lower part of Bucky’s stomach.

“So are you,” Bucky responds with a shiver.

“Wanna help me get ‘em off?” Steve murmurs while moving his fingers to toy with the waistband of Bucky’s suit pants.

“Oh, god, yes.”

To their equal annoyance, it turns out that Bucky has to climb off of Steve's thighs in order for either of them to get their pants off. 

Once the pants are off, Steve can see that Bucky is hard beneath the dark grey cotton of his underwear, and when Steve tries to wet his lips, he finds that his mouth has gone completely dry from the sight alone. 

His hands tremble as he worms himself out of his own clothes, and soon they’re both lying almost completely naked next to each other on the bed, their underwear being the only garments left to remove.

Steve can see the shape of Bucky’s erection as it pushes against the fabric of his boxer briefs, bigger and thicker than Steve had imagined it to be. He swallows, and as he looks up, he finds that Bucky’s eyes are fixed onto the similar display of Steve’s own crotch, Bucky’s mouth opens in awe as if he’s just then realized what it is he’s looking at.

They have seen each other naked before; they’ve been friends for so long that such a thing’s practically inevitable, but this is nothing like any of those times and they both know it. School dressing rooms and naked summer swims in the lake out by Bucky’s parent’s summerhouse can’t in any way compare to seeing each other like this. Even though both of them are more than aware what they’re about to do next – of the state they’re about to witness the other in – they also know that it’s a very significant bridge from them to cross. 

For a short, intense moment, their eyes meet, gazes clashing in the sudden silence of the room. Bucky looks just about as expectantly nervous as Steve feels, which is an oddly comforting feeling.

After having attempted to swallow for a second time without success, Steve takes it upon himself to make the first move. Reaching out, he splays his hand against Bucky’s stomach to gently smooth his palm over the skin. Bucky’s abs twitch a little as Steve rubs up towards Bucky’s side and then down again in a slow, lazy circle, before dropping lower. His fingers touch the curved line tenting through Bucky’s underwear, and Bucky sucks in a sharp, open mouthed breath at the touch. Fingers tracing, Steve moves the hand up to flatten his palm against the entire length, and presses it down as he reaches the tip. His reward is to see Bucky’s eyes flutter shut as Bucky tips his head back to slowly slump his body down against the pillows.

Steve wants to ask if it feels good, but he realizes that it would probably be a pretty redundant question.

Instead, he continues tracing, using nothing but his palm and fingers to explore this new, unfamiliar area of Bucky’s body, while Bucky’s chest continues to rise and fall in increasingly quicker, ragged breaths.

It’s fascinating, to watch the way Bucky’s body reacts to every new shift of Steve’s wrist, the increasing or decreasing pressure of his hand. He tries the same, slow squeeze that Bucky had used on him back out in the hallway, and apparently that’s appreciated as it has Bucky’s cock immediately straining and twitching against the weight of Steve’s hand.

When Steve closes his hand into a light fist, Bucky’s fingers curl into the bedspread, and his eyes lock onto Steve’s hand as Steve begins to stroke it up and down along the shaft.

“God, your hands are fucking magic…” Bucky pants, his gaze flitting between Steve’s hand and face until they finally drop, mesmerized, to the sight of Steve’s own covered erection. “Cm’ere,” he urges, and one of his hands leaves the bedspread to slide questing fingers against Steve’s knee. “C’mon, lemme touch you.” 

Obediently, Steve scoots closer to kneel on the mattress next to Bucky’s side. His breath stutters when Bucky’s hand grasps around him through his underwear, not wasting any time on the slow exploration that Steve had practiced on him.

Steve groans as he rocks his hips into Bucky’s fist while biting his lower lip and breathing hard through his nose, trying his best to reciprocate. Bucky had called Steve’s hands magic, but Steve is fully prepared to argue that the one with magic fingers here is Bucky.  

Staying still is near impossible, even more so to stay focused on what he himself is doing. When Bucky’s fist tightens around him, Steve simply hangs his head down with a ragged gasp, letting go of Bucky to brace himself on the bed while a hiss of frustrated exhilaration slips out between Bucky’s gritted teeth.

“Oh, screw this…”

Hands clasp over Steve’s shoulders, pulling to the side, and Steve barely avoids kneeing Bucky in the crotch when Bucky jostles him into straddling his hips. Then, Bucky abruptly shifts his grip to relocate his hands onto the curve of Steve’s ass, pushing down at the same time as he rolls his own hips up, and oh— Oh, fuck, that is  _ amazing. _

Steve quickly catches on to what Bucky has in mind, and as he grinds down, he feels the length of Bucky’s still-covered erection slot up against the curve on the inside of his hipbone. Bracing himself on Bucky’s shoulders, he does it again, rocking his body down while moving his hips back and forth, making them both moan. Once Bucky realizes that Steve’s on board with the plan, he moves one hand up to curl his fingers over the edge of Steve’s hip, while his other hand goes to the top of Steve’s shoulder to help set a steady pace.

They find a rhythm with close to no effort at all, moving against each other, rubbing and grinding in slow, rolling motions that sends heat sparking through Steve’s veins. It doesn’t take long before wet patches begin to spread over the front of their underwear, making the garments cling to their skin, fabric stretching taut.

Steve leans down to fit his tongue against the hollow of Bucky’s throat, from where he proceeds to lick a wet, distracting trail up Bucky’s neck while he continues to rock down, putting more force behind his hips to press them even closer together. 

It’s one of the hottest things Steve’s done in his life, and Steve can’t decide if he wants to drown himself in the feeling, or drag it out for as long as possible. Bucky’s touch is like a drug spreading through his blood, making his brain shut down, one cell at a time, until all that’s left is the overwhelming need to  _ come. _ God, he wants to come so bad, but he also wants to stay like this forever, and never have this moment end for as long as he lives.

He looks down, drinking in the sight of Bucky’s flushed cheeks and bobbing throat. On a whim, he then allows his gaze to drop even further down, only to discover that the waistband of Bucky’s boxers has been tugged down by the movement of their bodies to reveal the bulbous tip of Bucky’s cock. As his own body stutters to a halt at the sight, Steve watches the length give a violent twitch that causes it to smear a wet streak of precome over both of their stomachs. The view brings an icy feeling of excitement to Steve’s gut, as if every single one of his internal organs has suddenly decided to freeze over in ecstatic shock.

He hears Bucky’s breath catch, and raising his gaze, he notices that Bucky is also looking down to where he’s poking out from underneath the elastic band of his underwear. Realizing that Steve is watching, Bucky then swallows hard, the already pink flush of his cheeks slowly spreading to cover the tips of his ears. 

Gripped by a sudden impulse, Steve gently slides one of his hands from Bucky’s shoulder and down his chest, taking his time to let Bucky stop him should he want to. 

Bucky doesn’t.

Instead he watches, lips stubbornly pinched as Steve reaches his goal. Steve tentatively drags the tip of his index finger along the tip of the exposed erection to gather up some of the precome there, ignoring the strangled noise Bucky makes as he does so, before bringing the digit to his lips.

Bucky’s eyes widen, a choked whimper falling from his mouth as his cock twitches up against Steve’s own when Steve licks at the finger, lapping up the liquid smear with the tip of his tongue. Keeping eye contact with Bucky, Steve then drags his tongue in a broad swipe across his palm before bringing the hand back down to wrap it around Bucky’s cock.

“Is this how you imagined it?” he breathes. “Me. Touching you like this?”

Bucky nods, biting down on his lower lip as he sends a pleading look toward Steve’s hand, which still hasn’t moved. Steve catches it, and he leans in to brush his lips over Bucky’s mouth in a brief flutter, moving down to drag his lips along the edge of his jaw.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispers. Bucky’s mouth falls open as a gasp pushes itself between his lips, his pleading gaze from before turning into a flustered stare as he shifts it to Steve’s face. 

“Tell me what to do,” Steve repeats. He moves to nibble at the lobe of Bucky’s ear, lowering his voice into a husky whisper. “ _ Instruct _ me…” 

“Jesus Christ…” 

The fingers against Steve’s hips twitch as Bucky’s grip turns almost bruising, but Steve just waits while Bucky closes his eyes to take a deep, grounding breath, before speaking again.

“You could—” Bucky cuts himself off to lick at his lips with a groan. “You could move your hand.”

To be honest, Steve wouldn’t have called that an instruction as much as a suggestion, but he lets it slide, obediently moving his hand up and down the shaft in his grip while keeping the action deliberately slow.

“Like this?” he asks innocently, struggling to hold back a smile when Bucky nods.

“Uh-huh,” he pants. “Yeah, just… Maybe a bit faster?”

“A bit what?”

“Faster,” Bucky grits through his teeth, and Steve hums, because yeah, that’s the desperate tone he wants to hear. As a reward, he does as he’s told, watching Bucky’s abs twitch at the increased speed of his hand.

“What else?” he prompts.

“Tighter…” Bucky grates, swallowing hard. “Grip tighter.”

“Like this?” Steve asks as he adjusts his grip.

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s— Oh, fuck, that’s good…”

Steve chuckles. Momentarily, he lets his gaze drop to watch his fingers work over the cock in his hand. Taking in the flushed color of the skin, the wet shine spreading at the tip.

“What else, Buck?” he coaxes, and Bucky groans, hips rocking up impatiently into the tunnel of Steve’s fingers.

“Harder,” he orders, voice shaking. “You’re being too gentle.”

“You like it rough?” Steve asks with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Bucky pants, almost breathlessly. “Yeah, just give it to me…”

“You better watch the things coming out of that mouth of yours,” Steve warns. “Or I might just take you up on ‘em.”

The noise Bucky makes at that is probably the furthest thing away from an objection Steve has ever heard in his entire life. But it’s not what Steve wants from him.

“Bucky, what  _ else? _ ” he demands while adding a twist to his wrist that has Bucky slamming his head back against the pillow.

“That…!” he gasps, his voice thick and throaty. “Oh, holy shit…”

“That  _ what? _ ”

“That thing you— Your hand, I—” He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut with a ragged whine. “C’mon, Steve, don’t be such a dick!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve says nonchalantly, repeating the twisting motion over the head of Bucky’s cock to send a vicious tremor through the other man’s entire body.

“Steve…” Bucky whimpers. “Steve, you’re gonna—” His breath hitches as his fingers suddenly claws into the covers to twist at the fabric. “Oh, fuck, stop. Steve, stop, I’m ‘bout to—  _ Steve. _ ”

Steve’s hand gets ripped away as Bucky jack-knives up into a sitting position to clutch at the base of his own cock. His chest heaves in cracked, fraying breaths while he stifles the orgasm threatening to spill over the edge, while his other hand tightens its grip around Steve’s captured wrist on pure reflex.

“Oh, my go— Oh, you little punk,” he groans under his breath, sending Steve a half-hearted glare. “Did you go deaf all of a sudden?”

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs with a smile as he leans down to nip at Bucky’s lower lip in apology. “I just like listening to your voice. I’ve never heard you sound like that before.”

“ _ You _ like  _ my  _ voice?” Bucky asks with a chuckle, attempting to kiss back as he releases Steve’s hand. “Dude, have you even  _ heard  _ yourself?” 

“I usually focus on other things than my own voice when doing stuff like this,” Steve points out with a sarcastic huff. “In all honesty, I’m not that vocal.”

“What?” Bucky objects in disbelief. “C’mon, you’ve been nothing  _ but  _ vocal for the past twenty minutes.”

“That’s different,” Steve objects, at which Bucky raises his arm wrap it tenderly around his waist.

“So, what you’re trying to tell me is that you’re not loud in bed?” Bucky asks with a teasing smirk.

“Not usually, no,” Steve answers. He just manages to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s teeth before his smile widens into a grin, and then Bucky promptly wrestles him to the side, flipping both of them over to come out on top with his body wedged in between Steve’s parted thighs.

“Well then,” he grins as he meets with Steve disoriented gaze as Steve props himself up on his elbows. “Let’s see if we can fix that, shall we?”

“What are you—?” Steve starts, but the question dies in his throat when Bucky begins to inch himself backwards, that wicked little quirk at the corner of his mouth making Steve’s own mouth go dry when he realizes what his friend plans to do.

“Oh, god…” he breathes, scooting back to lean against the headboard of the bed. His shoulders goes rigid as it’s his turn to bury his hands among the sheets, bracing himself for dear life when Bucky’s breath fans over the damp fabric of his underwear.

“He’s busy right now…” Bucky says, smirking as he hooks his thumb into the waistband of Steve’s underwear. “But feel free to leave a message after the beep.”

Steve opens his mouth to give Bucky some sort of snide comment in return, but manages to stop himself at last second when Bucky pulls his boxers down, rendering his first syllable a hiss when his cock bobs up to almost slap Bucky right in the chin.

“Fuck, look at that.” Bucky tilts his head to the side to eye the length in his face with an appreciative leer. “It’s even better than I imagined.” 

He brings his hand up to drag it leisurely over Steve’s skin. “I admit, I thought it’d be more curved…” he says while tracing a slightly bent line from the root to the tip, finger barely gracing the surface. “And less thick around the head.” 

The digit makes a slow, fluttering swirl over the mentioned area, causing Steve to suck in a sharp breath, cock twitching in the wake of the near nonexistent touch.  “But this is honestly so much better,” Bucky continues, as if talking to himself, purring with anticipation. “It looks so tasty, it’s making my mouth water…”

Steve gulps down another breath, and when Bucky leans forward, Steve has to force himself not to turn his gaze away, even though he suspects that the sight he is about to witness will without a doubt kill him.

Bucky’s tongue flattens against the base of him, dragging up in a broad, wet swipe all the way up to the head. Once there, Bucky’s lips, pink and plump, closes over the tip of Steve’s dick to give it a light suckle.

Steve’s breath curls hot and heavy in his chest with such force it makes his head feel light. Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s mouth is on his cock.  _ Bucky’s mouth _ , sucking him off.

He has barely finished the thought when Bucky gives a loud, humming groan, and Steve’s eyes slide shut against his will as he feels Bucky take him deeper, swallowing him down.

Fuck, he should have figured that Bucky would be good at this. With the way he kisses, how can he not be? 

Willing his eyes back open, Steve glances down to where Bucky is currently working him over, Bucky’s own eyes blissfully closed, as if he’s being allowed a taste of the most decadent treat ever. 

Tentatively, Steve reaches out to place a hand at the top of Bucky’s head, and in return Bucky gives a low, appreciative groan as he pushes his head into Steve’s palm like a giant cat.

_ You like it rough? _

Remembering Bucky’s answer to that question, Steve tightens his fingers amongst the short curls, and Bucky’s mouth falls open in a breathless gasp as his hips stutter down against the mattress.

Oh, Bucky likes it rough alright. 

“Hair pulling, Buck?” Steve pants. “Really?”

“Don’t judge me,” Bucky says, smirking while pulling off of Steve’s cock with a wet pop in order to answer. “If I remember correctly, someone once drunkenly confessed to me that they have a thing for bondage?”

“I said I liked the concept,” Steve corrects shakily. “But I wouldn’t know for sure since I’ve never actually tried.”

“Guess we better put that down on our to-do list, then,” Bucky says with a grin. Steve responds by pulling at Bucky’s hair for a second time, causing Bucky’s eyes to flutter shut.

“How about you finish the job you’ve already started first?” Steve suggests brazenly, using his grip to guide Bucky’s head back down. Bucky’s gaze flickers up to meet with his in an affronted glare, but whatever unsubmissive performance he had planned to put up immediately crumbles to the ground when Steve adds a little bit of suggestive pressure to the top of Bucky’s head. 

Steve can read straight through Bucky’s acted defiance; all cocky attitude and big talk. Bucky’s true nature is all but painstakingly obvious as he obediently opens his mouth and releases a voracious moan as he wraps his lips around Steve once more.

Keeping his hand on top of Bucky’s head with his fingers tangled in his hair, Steve watches Bucky suck him off. Watches the gleam of saliva spread over his cock, the delicious way Bucky’s mouth stretches to accommodate the size of him, the way those luscious lips part in greedy gasps for air every time Bucky pulls away to breathe.

Steve decides that he never wants to stop watching Bucky again. That he wants to keep him in his sights, just like this, for the rest of his life if he can. Given, it would be a life short-lived as he is fairly certain that he’s going to die in just a matter of minutes, because Bucky’s mouth is damn near  _ killing him _ . 

He no longer has any idea of how to breathe, he’s just thankful that his body has enough sense to keep doing it for him. His knuckles are turning white with how hard he’s clutching at the sheets, and Bucky definitely isn’t playing around anymore, heaven have mercy…!

Steve had been serious when he said that he usually isn’t that loud, but he’s starting to suspect that the only reason he hasn’t been so far, is because no one has ever given him a reason to before this moment. 

Bucky, on the other hand, apparently knows exactly which buttons to push, and in which order, because staying quiet is quickly becoming impossible as Steve’s breath shakes apart along with his self control. Strained moans and whimpers somehow manage to slip past the protective barrier of his lips; moans barely subdued into choked out whines that almost make his throat hurt.

His abs are twitching, the heat pooling in his stomach as Bucky begins to do something new with his tongue that sends Steve’s head reeling, and— oh,  _ fuck…  _

“Fuck…” he whimpers out loud, fingers gripping Bucky's hair tighter at the same time as he shoots his other hand out to grapple for the edge of the headboard. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…!”

Bucky hums as he moves his hand up to grip around Steve’s cock to replace his mouth when he pulls up and off of him again.

“Yeah, c’mon,” he breathes, jacking Steve off. “Doesn’t it feel good, Stevie? Don’t you like it when I go down on you?”

Steve's hips jerk as he pushes his cock into the tunnel of Bucky's hand with a groan that he wouldn’t have been able to stifle even if he’d tried.

“I wanna taste you,” Bucky whispers. “I've been dreaming about it for so fucking long. To have the taste of your come in my mouth.”

Bucky’s hand squeezes, and Steve lets out a strangled gasp, feeling his toes curl from the suggestive images Bucky's voice is plating inside his brain. Something hot and flaring sparks low in his gut, sending his abs curling, and his hand slips away from Bucky's scalp to shove hard against the hand around his cock.

“Bucky, wait,” he pleads, because no, he doesn’t want— Not yet, he won’t— “Together…” he moans. “Bucky, I want… With you,  _ please _ , I—”

Thankfully, Bucky gets the message. Removing his hands, he gets up on all fours, and Steve obediently raises his legs when Bucky pulls at his boxers to slide them all the way off. Then, after getting rid of his own underwear, Bucky crawls up to straddle Steve's thighs one more time.

Steve grips around Bucky's hips, relishing in the satisfying pressure as he lowers himself over his pelvis. Bucky leans forward to grip around the headboard of the bed in search of leverage to grind down. Dropping his head, he lets out a keening noise against Steve’s chest as he hooks his ankles around Steve's knees, rocking himself down, and Steve meets the movement with an eager moan.

They are both already pushing at the boundaries of how much they can take, having been far too close of tipping over the edge already. The pace that had been slow and deliberate before has shifted, turning hot and frantic, almost desperate. The bed is swaying, the headboard thumping against the wall, but neither of them cares about any consequential noise as the rising pleasure shuts everything out, clouding their senses.

Steve peers up at Bucky’s face through his eyelashes, trying to focus his vision enough to take in what he sees. He watches the furl of Bucky's eyebrows grow deeper and deeper with concentration, takes note of the way he mouths broken curses and shaky sentences under his breath. He watches the flush of Bucky’s cheeks grow darker, spreading down his neck and chest, listening to his breathing as it grows more and more erratic with every passing second.

His fingers twitch against Bucky's lower back as he guides Bucky to push down harder while he grinds himself up. He wants the friction, wants every inch of Bucky that he can get pushing against him, on top of him, skin against skin.

Bucky, who up until that point has been bracing himself with his arms against the headboard, willingly goes with the movement of Steve’s hand. Releasing the headboard, he leans down to press his chest flush against Steve's, wrapping both arms around Steve’s neck with a mewling noise in the back of his throat.

That noise does things to Steve’s body that he decides shouldn’t be legal. Goosebumps ripple down his neck and arms, causing the hairs there to rise to attention in their wake. He can feel the end rush towards him, a steep cliff that opens up into a vast, gut wrenchingly deep canyon, and he wants to throw himself over the edge so badly his entire body aches with it.

He moans Bucky's name, or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing. Whatever sound he makes, it must be clear enough to make Bucky understand, because he nods sharply, groaning out a breathless, “Yes… Oh, fuck, Steve,  _ yes! _ ” against his shoulder.

It doesn’t matter, not really, because Steve is already there. His stomach whirls, stars exploding before his vision as a supernova seems to go off right behind his eyes, blinding him.

He cants his head back against the headboard and comes with a long, exhaled whimper. His hands claw over Bucky’s shoulders, moving up to fist the hair at the back of his head, hard. He hears Bucky gasp the syllable of his name in short, breathy bursts, twice, before he presses his face against Steve's neck with a breathless groan. 

Burying his climax against Steve’s skin, Bucky gives a final buck of his pelvis, and a strung-out whine that makes Steve shiver rises from his throat, as liquid heat smears between them to turn their thrusts slick and slippery. 

Steve can feel his pulse shove its way through his veins, thrumming against the inside of his skull in time with his heartbeat while he slowly comes back down into his own head. Feeling Bucky’s breath quiver against his neck from where he’s draped over Steve’s shoulder, Steve suspects that Bucky is in a rather similar condition.

“Holy fucking shit…” he hears Bucky breathe, and he can’t resist the urge to laugh when Bucky sits back up with a groan, shaky arms pushing against Steve’s shoulders. He looks drunk, Steve concluded, with glassy eyes and a lopsided grin on his face, hair sticking up in unruly wisps. It’s a look that suits him, Steve decides.

Bucky looks down and grimaces at the mess on his chest. He pokes at the white smear with his index finger, sticking his tongue out.

“Right,” he mutters. “I forgot about how messy that usually gets.”

“You  _ forgot _ ?” Steve asks, eyebrows arching. “Has it really been that long since you had sex?”

“Well, in case I didn’t make myself clear earlier,” Bucky snorts. “I’ve sort of been saving myself for someone special.”

“How noble of you,” Steve answers, smiling.

“Yeah… Turns out it was totally worth it,” Bucky responds, and some of his sarcasm falls away as he sends Steve a hesitant glance from the corner of his eye.

“It sure was,” Steve agrees. Bucky’s lip quirks as a smile comes into quick view, before turning into a strained grimace once more.

“You know, I’d love to stay like this,” he declares with a frown. “But my thighs are gonna tear away from my groin if I don’t move soon.” 

Steve chuckles and gives Bucky a light shove in the side, urging him to stop talking and actually move if it hurts that much. In return, Bucky climbs off to slump down on the mattress next to him with a grateful sigh. Steve grimaces at the thought of Bucky’s come-covered stomach rubbing off against the sheets, but then he decides that it doesn’t really matter; they have another, clean bed, just a few feet away after all.

“That was frickin’ awesome,” Bucky mumbles into the covers, voice muffled by the fabric covering his face.

“It was,” Steve agrees again. “Without a doubt the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffens, and Steve waits patiently for whatever question the other wants to ask while using his own discarded shirt to wipe off the mess on his chest. Or maybe it’s Bucky’s shirt, he can’t really tell.

“It wasn’t—” Bucky starts, cutting himself off. “I mean, you did all that because you wanted to, right?”

Steve turns his head to frown down at the other man as he tosses the soiled piece of clothing onto the floor.

“Of course I did it because I wanted to,” he says. “Why else would I do it?”

“No, I meant…” Bucky swallows, twisting around to glance up at him. “I mean, you’re not… drunk or anything? That’s not what this is, right? A one night stand or something?”

Steve sighs, and then he slides down to lay his head onto the pillow, turning sideways with his arm tucked under his head so that he’s facing Bucky head-on.

“My name is Steven Grant Rogers,” he says firmly. “I’m twenty-six years old. I’ve known you since I was ten. You were twelve, and we met when you saved me from getting my ass kicked by a couple of third-graders back in elementary school.”

Bucky shuts his mouth with an audible click.

“Today is the…” Steve raises his head from the pillow to peer at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s showing ten minutes past midnight. “... nineteenth of August,” he continues. “And in total, I’ve had two glasses of whisky, two— no, one-and-a- _ half _ beers, and one Coke during the course of the evening. I am  _ not  _ drunk. I am  _ not  _ using you for a one night stand, and I am  _ not  _ going to pretend like this never happened in the morning.”

He looks at Bucky and sighs while snuggling deeper into his pillow, getting comfortable.

“I know that tonight was strange,” Steve admits. “And turbulent, and all kinds of dramatic, but… it ended like this. With us. Why would I regret that?”

Bucky licks his lips, his nerves making him choke up. Steve knows that’s what it is, because he knows Bucky well enough to see the difference between him not wanting to speak, and not being able to.

“Bucky, I  _ love  _ you,” he says softly. “And even though I might feel bad ‘cause it took me so long to realize, I still don’t regret that it happened like this. I want to be with you. Isn’t that what you want too?”

This time Bucky nods, swallowing hard, and then he abruptly rolls over onto his back, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes with an embarrassed groan towards the ceiling. 

“Ahh, now look what you did!” he complains, voice thick with emotions. “For fuck sakes, you’re turning me into a freaking girl here…”

“Drop the act, tough guy,” Steve says, snorting while reaching over to pry Bucky’s hands away from his face. “You may have fooled everybody else, but I know that underneath that bad-boy exterior, you’re just a big ball of soft and fluffy goo on the inside.”

“Fuck off,” Bucky grins, trying to swat him away, but Steve catches his hand in an expert grip and gently pins it over his head while nuzzling his nose against Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky gives a loud, snorted laugh, squeezing his shoulder and head together to keep Steve out, but without much success. In just a matter of seconds, the situation has turned into a combined wrestle-and-tickle fight, with Steve trying to pin Bucky to the bed, while Bucky just as vigorously tries to get away, laughing and squirming. 

Thirty seconds later, Bucky efficiently manages to squirm his way right over the edge of the mattress, and he crashes to the floor with a panicked yelp and a loud thump that makes the bedside table lamp sway. From the bed, Steve lets out a giggled snort that quickly grows into a full on laugh; one which he quickly tries to stifle by burying his face in one of the pillows by the headboard.

And as Bucky curses and tries to swat at him from below the bed frame in order to make him shut up, Steve can’t help but feel as if everything has suddenly gone back to normal again. Only ‘normal’ has suddenly become a thousand times better than it ever was before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> As usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I do my best to respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	5. From This Day Forward

They decide to sleep in the room’s other bed; the one which  _ doesn’t  _ have its sheets bunched into a big, rumpled pile, covered in stains of… stuff.

Once Bucky decides that Steve won’t get his newly gained privileges as lover revoked for laughing at him falling off the bed, they settle on the fact that they should probably take a shower before going to sleep. After all, the sheets are not the only things in the room with stains on them… 

They shower quickly, seeing as the late hour of the night has begun to take its toll on both of them. Even though Steve suspects that they still have enough energy between the two of them to turn up the heat significantly, the shower remains platonic with a minimum of touching. Apart from a few kisses and affectionate touches, that is.

Steve’s hair is still a bit damp when he crawls down to settle underneath the covers of the bed next to Bucky. It’s a bit of tight fit, despite Steve’s smaller frame, but neither of them really care. A bigger bed, would in fact, most likely have been redundant.

“So,” Steve announces while nestling into the dip between Bucky’s chest and shoulder. “Confession time.”

Bucky looks at him, a faint crease of worry appearing on his brow that Steve pretends not to see.

“Exactly how many times...” Steve continues while looking Bucky dead in the eye, “…have you touched yourself in my home?”

Bucky produces an inarticulate noise that comes out sounding like something in between a ‘pfft!’ and a ‘what?’.

“I’m just curious,” Steve defends himself, before Bucky’s indignant sputtering can continue. “You’ve spent the night at my place so many times now, I’ve sort of assumed you’ve done things like that already at some point. I just want to know how many times you did it while thinking of  _ me. _ ”

The explanation has Bucky relaxing somewhat, but he lets out a snort as if the question is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. Still, it takes him more than just a few seconds before he answers.

“The first time… It felt really freaking weird, you know,” he says slowly. “To think stuff like that while you were right there in the other room, I mean. It felt like… Like I was taking advantage of you or something.”

Steve nods. He can imagine how that must have felt. He had gone through a similar moral dilemma less than five hours ago while locked inside the wedding venue’s bathroom.

“I take it that since you referred to it as ‘the first time’, that means you did it more times after that?” he deduces smugly, and Bucky snorts out a laugh.

“Not as many as you might think,” he objects. “I usually managed to keep myself under control long enough to get back home, but… there’s been a few… occasions.”

“Like?” Steve coaxes, smiling openly now, and Bucky sighs as he pulls his fingers through his hair.

“Alright,” he says. “Do you remember the time we watched that movie? About the guy basically finding out he’s gay and all that? It was on late. Like,  _ way  _ late, and we ended up watching it just because there was nothing else on at the time.”

“Are you talking about Shelter?” Steve asks, frowning.

“Yeah, I think that was the name of it. You know there was this—” Bucky clears his throat. “This scene where the guy decides to… To just go for it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly, and underneath his ear he feels the rhythm of Bucky’s heart pick up speed.

“Well, I was…” Bucky cleares his throat again. “When I went to sleep afterwards I thought about that scene and… I just, you know… pictured the two of us instead. That I would open the door one day and you’d be standing there. Shoving me up against the wall to kiss me the same way they kissed and… I ended up having to take care of a few things.”

“ _ A few things _ being the hard-on in your pants?” Steve asks with a knowing smirk.

“Shut up,” Bucky mutters. “It was a nice fantasy.”

“Indeed it was,” Steve hums. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that scenario sort of what just happened here tonight? In a way?”

Bucky chuckles while tipping his head further into the pillow.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Fuck, that was hot as hell.”

“Did you do it on the couch?” Steve asks, returning to the subject, his curiosity peaked.

“Yeah.” Bucky licks his lips. “Do you— You want details?”

“If you don’t mind?” Steve says as he presses a lazy kiss against Bucky’s clavicle.

“There’s not much to tell, really,” Bucky apologizes. “I was on my back on your couch with my head propped up against the armrest, and I… I had my hands under the covers. I still had my boxers and t-shirt on, and I had gotten some Kleenex from the bathroom. I held out for like… two minutes tops. It was almost embarrassing.” He swallows. “Sorry, I’m not very good at telling stories like this.”

“I guess you’re just going to have to show me some time instead then,” Steve purrs. “I’d like that.”

“I bet, you little perv,” Bucky mutters, snorting under his breath.

“Says the one who likes to get his hair pulled,” Steve retorts. He reaches up to tug pointedly at the hair at the top of Bucky’s head. “I hope you realize that I’m going to take every chance I get to do that in public from now on.”

“A perv  _ and  _ a sadist,” Bucky elaborates, before letting out a loud, exaggerated hiss when Steve gives his hair another quick tug.

“Something tells me you don’t really mind that,” Steve says.

“Not really, no,” Bucky admits. He pauses. “To be honest, I was kind of hoping you’d react the way you did. To, you know… go for it.”

“You said you liked it rough,” Steve says with a shrug. “Going for it felt like the right thing to do.”

“It was,” Bucky answers, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “Did  _ you  _ like it?”

“Very,” Steve responds earnestly. “I was actually surprised by how much. I’ve never tried that kind of sex with anyone before.” 

“Oh. Good.” 

Steve can hear that Bucky’s relieved to hear that Steve had enjoyed himself, though Steve can’t really understand why. The fact that someone takes on the dominant role in a sexual relationship isn’t exactly uncommon. Perhaps Bucky had been worried that Steve would feel uncomfortable in the role he was given, seeing as Bucky immediately had fallen into the more submissive one himself.

Again, Steve doesn’t understand why. Bucky’s reaction to being dominated – as tame of a domination as it had been – is definitely something he can see himself getting used to. Maybe even explore further in the future…

Deciding to let the topic drop for the time being, Steve presses himself closer to Bucky’s chest while throwing a resolute leg over his thigh to hook his ankle around the other man’s knee.

“What are you, an octopus?” Bucky asks with a snort, going against his acted annoyance by wrapping his arms around Steve’s back to pull him in. Steve doesn’t answer. He just sighs and nuzzles his cheek against Bucky’s chest with a contented flutter in his stomach.

It’s new, being close to Bucky in this way, but he can’t find any trace of that foreboding feeling of ‘wrong’ that he had been so scared to encounter. Looking back at it now, it’s as if it was the feeling of having been ‘just friends’ that had felt wrong; as if they for the past years had both been assigned to play roles which neither of them knew how to act out properly.

“How did we miss this?” he murmurs to himself.

“Miss what?” Bucky asks, and when Steve twists around to lie on his back, still with his head on Bucky’s chest, he finds Bucky looking down at him from above.

“Us,” he answers simply. “I mean, when did you first realize that you liked me as more than a friend?” 

“Oh, my god.” Bucky says with a sigh as he looks up at the ceiling. “ _ Years _ ago. I think it was in tenth grade or something.”

“Tenth grade?” Steve frowns, and then his eyes widens. “Don’t tell me—”

“No,” Bucky quickly objects while holding up a rejecting finger. “It was  _ not  _ the kissing bet that did it, even though Tony would probably have  _ loved  _ to take credit for that one. I actually liked you before that happened. Even if only by a few months.”

“What?” Steve says, chuckling. “When was it then?”

Bucky sighs again and then his lips tug up in an awkward smile as he goes back to looking up at the ceiling.

“It was December,” he says, closing his eyes and shaking his head softly, as if he can’t believe that he’s actually telling Steve about this. “They had this… crafts day at school for some charity, or International Friends Day, or whatever. Everyone was supposed to make holiday cards and give each other, to raise awareness for something, I can’t remember what exactly.”

“Bullying,” Steve provides quietly. “It was an anti-bullying campaign.”

“Really?” Bucky asks. “Oh. Anyway, uhm… You know me, I’m not really… I’ve never been that into crafts. Art’s fun, on occasion, but  _ crafts; _ all that glue, and glitter, and people running around with scissors. I was trying to weasel my way out of it by folding a paper in half, put some glue on it, and then just dump all the glitter I could get my hands on on top of it.”

“I recall the teacher getting pretty upset with you about that,” Steve says with a smirk, and Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, tell me about it…”

“I gave you one,” Steve reminisces suddenly. “A card, I mean.”

“Yeah, you did.” Bucky nods, his expression growing softer. “A blue one with snowflakes on it. And when you opened it up…”

“...there was an angel on the inside,” Steve finishes, remembering the visual the moment Bucky begins to describe it.

“Yeah. You made this real intricate pop-up shit so that it looked as if the angel’d spread its wings when you opened the card.” Bucky gives Steve a light nudge on the shoulder. “Show-off.”

“So you fell in love with me over a Christmas card?” Steve asks, ignoring the name calling in favor of grinning back at Bucky, whose ears immediately turn a light shade of pink.

“It wasn’t the card,” he grumbles. “It was— I mean, when you gave it to me, I told you I couldn’t accept it, because then you wouldn’t have one to give away for yourself. And you just looked at me, smiled, and told me that you made two from the start because you knew that I wouldn’t want to make one. Then you looked at me like— I mean, you had looked at me like that before, but when you did it that time, it just… I don’t know, it just struck something and I… I couldn’t get you out of my head after that.”

He closes his eyes again, grimacing. “I guess it must sound pretty dumb to you.”

“Not at all,” Steve objects, and Bucky licks his lips.

“I kept the card,” he says quietly, after a moment of hesitation. “I know I was supposed to give it away, but I still have it, somewhere.”

Steve looks at him, trying to keep himself from grinning. “Now  _ that, _ ” he says as his lips part in a wide grin, “is absolutely adorable.”

“Shut your mouth,” Bucky says with a snort, turning away, cheeks glowing.

“No, no, it is,” Steve defends himself. “It’s totally endearing. And very amusing.”

“I shouldn’t have told you about that,” Bucky says, shaking his head in acted regret while trying not to laugh. “I knew I should have kept my big mouth shut.”

“Aw, no.” Steve says, laughing as he brings his hand up to cradle Bucky’s chin, turning his head back around. “I like your big mouth,” he says while letting his voice drop low and suggestive, making Bucky snort.

“Yeah, I wonder why?”

Steve grins, stretching his neck up while bringing Bucky’s face down for a kiss, which Bucky gives willingly.

“So, what do you say?” Bucky says as he pulls back, looking down at him with a smile. “Lights out?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. It’s late, and the day has been anything but uneventful. Sleep feels like a very good idea.

Crawling deeper under the covers, Bucky turns off the bedside light, and Steve is pleased when Bucky then wraps his arm around him once more to let Steve rest his head on his chest. Steve has a strong suspicion that that particular spot will quickly become his new favourite pillow.

“Did you hope something like this would happen?” he asks, allowing his hand to draw intricate little circles below the curve of Bucky’s collarbone. “When you volunteered to help me for the wedding?”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky asks. “When you said we might have to kiss each other, I almost panicked. I mean, sure, I’ve daydreamed about something like that happening, but I didn’t exactly allow myself to get my hopes up. Mostly, I just wanted to help you out.”

“That was very noble of you.”

“Not exactly the word I’d use, but whatever floats your boat,” Bucky says with an audible smile.

They fall silent, and the dark of the hotel room wraps itself around them like an extra blanket, warm and comforting. A car drives past on the street outside, its headlights barely strong enough to illuminate the ceiling before it disappears again.

“Do you think…?”

Steve hums, snuggling closer, already half asleep. “Do I think what?” he asks drowsily.

“That things will change?” Bucky murmurs. “Between us?”

“Only for the better.” 

“Meaning?”

“For instance,” Steve says confidently. “I won’t let you sleep on the couch the next time you want to spend the night. And I will also no longer tolerate you wearing any sort of clothing around me, unless we’re in public.”

“Those sound like very good changes,” Bucky hums. “But it’ll be difficult to make you breakfast in the morning if I have to be naked. Splattering bacon grease hurts, you know.”

“I’ll lend you an apron,” Steve yawns while reaching below the covers to slide a hand suggestively along Bucky’s hipbone. “After all, I have an investment to protect.”

“Feels good to know my dick made such an impression on you.” Steve can practically hear Bucky’s sarcastic eye roll in the tone of his voice, but he doesn’t get time to come up with an equally sarcastic response before Bucky tips his head up to give him a kiss, right on the lips.

“Go. To. Sleep,” Bucky murmurs, his smile brushing the corner of Steve’s mouth even as he pulls away. Steve makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat before yawning again, settling his head back against Bucky’s chest with a contented sigh.

“Good night, Buck,” he mumbles, and he smiles as he feels Bucky’s thumb slowly brush up and down his shoulder in a tender swipe.

“Good night, Stevie.”

 

/\/\/\

 

Steve wakes up first.

The sun is shining in through the blinds of the window to send a stray ray of light crawling over his face. He blinks, grimacing while attempting to roll his body over to the other side, only to find that he can’t budge.

He has to settle for turning only his head as he realizes that Bucky is lying about half an inch away from his face, with both arms clasped tightly around his waist.

As he lies there with Bucky’s face slowly coming into focus as Steve’s brain attempts to wake up, the events of the night before also come back to him with a sort of calm, nonchalant detachment trailing in their wake.

Had all of that really happened in less than twenty-four hours?

An amazed little huff of breath slips past his lips, and then he leans in to give Bucky a soft, gentle kiss on the lips, simply because he can.

It takes a few seconds, and then he feels Bucky stiffen as the hands on Steve’s waist clutch down hard. Then, Bucky practically melts back into the mattress while breathing out a soft, pleasured sigh into the kiss.

“Good morning,” Steve murmurs against his mouth, and Bucky hums as he responds by dragging him in closer. He attempts to deepen the kiss, but Steve pulls away with a chuckle, pushing against Bucky’s chest with both hands.

“Hey, hey,” he protests. “Ever heard of ‘morning breath’?”

“Don’t care,” Bucky grumbles back, voice still drowsy with sleep.

“Well, sorry to break it to you, pal, but I do,” Steve points out. “You’ll have to make do with the closed mouth treatment until you’ve located a tooth brush.”

“Buzz kill…” Bucky says smirking, but he pulls back nonetheless, looking at Steve from across the span of his pillow. “Good morning, by the way.”

“I already said good morning,” Steve points out with a squint.

“Well then, good morning again,” Bucky retorts, still smiling.

“If it even  _ is  _ morning,” Steve points out. “What time is it?”

“Too early, probably,” Bucky mutters, but he turns around to look at the alarm clock anyway. “Huh. Look at that,” he marvels. “It’s ten-thirty.”

“Ten  _ what _ ?” Steve squawks while pushing himself up to stare at the clock over Bucky’s shoulder, before flopping back down onto his stomach with a loud groan. 

“What?” Bucky asks, sitting up.

“We have to be out of the room by eleven o’clock,” Steve informs him sullenly, burrowing his face into the pillow. He hears Bucky laugh at him, and then the warm and solid muscle of Bucky’s body gently settles itself over his back when Bucky rolls over to lie on top of him.

“I told you we should have booked it for an extra day,” Bucky sing-songs against his ear. 

“I know,” Steve grumbles, releasing a snorted giggle when Bucky attempts to shove a knee in between his to spread them apart. 

“C’mon, there’s time,” Bucky coaxes, lining the back of Steve’s neck with kisses. “Five minutes, tops.”

“Trust me, Bucky.” Steve turns his head to look at the other man over his shoulder. “Five minutes won't be nearly enough for the things I want to do with you today.” 

“Was that supposed to make me  _ less  _ interested about staying in bed?” Bucky asks incredulously.

“No, it was meant to make you get off me.”

“Get you off?” Bucky jokes with a grin, pretending to have misheard. “You’ve gotta make up your mind, buddy, because I’m getting some seriously mixed signals here.”

“Just get your heavy ass off my back, you big mook.”

“Oh, wow,” Bucky laughs, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. “I haven’t heard you call me a mook in at least two years.”

“That’s because you haven’t  _ been  _ a mook for the past two years.” Steve rolls his eyes as he sits up too, shoving Bucky aside with his shoulder in order to climb off the bed. 

“You sure?” Bucky asks. “Last time was that time we went out drinking, and you—” He cuts himself off with a frown in Steve’s direction. “Wait, you haven’t been drunk in two years?” he asks.

“I haven’t been  _ smashed _ in two years,” Steve corrects. He leans down to pick his discarded dress shirt from last night off the floor, pinching it between his thumb and index finger as he holds it out in front of himself, grimacing. “There’s a difference.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky says knowingly as he rolls off the mattress with a low groan, before standing up to stretch his arms over his head with a wide yawn. Walking over to his backpack, he then begins to rummage through it in search of some fresh clothes. “Where were we that time anyway? Was it Nancy’s?”

“I think so,” Steve answers while dropping the crusted shirt back onto the floor. “Back when Nat still worked the bar.” 

“That’s right.” Bucky snaps his fingers in sudden recollection around the t-shirt in his hand. “She worked there for a while. You know, I actually think she doubled up on the booze in our drinks that night.”

“Wouldn't have surprised me if she did. I just wished she’d told me about it,” Steve mutters, moving towards his own bag. “Those drinks tasted better going down than up…”

Bucky laughs, pulling his new shirt and underwear on. “Yeah, but that wasn’t until we were already on our way home,” he objects. “We were doing fine until you decided to pick a fight with that blond guy and got us thrown out.”

“I did  _ not _ pick a fight,” Steve objects.

“Stevie, you threw a punch at the guy.”

“Well, he was being rude,” Steve defends himself, his voice slightly muffled since he’s in the middle of pulling a t-shirt over his head. “That girl obviously didn’t want him around, and he didn’t back off when I asked him nicely.”

“Still,” Bucky points out. “You could have called the bouncer on him, rather than give him a fist to the face. To be honest, I’m impressed you even managed to land the punch in the first place with how hard you were swayin’.”

“Again, I was  _ drunk, _ ” Steve repeats as he emerges from within his shirt with an exaggerated pout, threading his arms through the opening of the sleeves. 

“Whatever,” Bucky says with a snort while shaking his jeans out to step into them. “You were cute as hell anyway.”

“Cute?” Steve arches his eyebrows. “What part of me getting my face beat in before getting sick behind the bus stop was ‘cute’?”

“The part where you fell asleep on my shoulder during the ride home afterwards,” Bucky answers calmly, as if it’s not that big of a deal. The  _ nerve. _

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, remaining quiet while trying not to grin like a total idiot as he pulls his own jeans on. He hadn’t known about that – not very surprisingly, since apparently, he had been passed out at the time – and the mental image of him sleeping on Bucky’s shoulder, face bruised, drooling, and snoring drunkenly while Bucky had looked down endearingly makes him feel oddly flattered.

He sneaks a glance at Bucky from the corner of his eye, wearing his familiar attire of a washed-out band shirt and torn jeans sending something sharp and akin to worry through his chest.

“Bucky.”

Bucky turns around when Steve speaks his name, and Steve immediately moves in to kiss him, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck as their mouths collide. It’s quick but intense, and Steve feels the heat of it rush through his bloodstream like hot water through a frozen pipe.

“O-kay… What was that all about?” Bucky asks slowly, looking both dazed and slightly concerned when Steve pulls back.

“I just wanted to make sure,” Steve explains, admittedly not with much clarity.

“About what?” Bucky chuckles as he lets his arms drop to circle Steve’s waist. “That I’m still me?”

“Maybe,” Steve says with a shrug. “I don’t know. I just… wanted to.”

“Well, it sure beats a glass slipper,” Bucky admits, grinning. “I mean, I know you fell for the guy in the suit, but this Cinderella feels a lot more comfortable in jeans.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Steve hums. “You look good in jeans. Especially the kind that are snug around your butt.”

“So you like ‘em tight, huh?” Bucky asks jokingly. “You trying to say that you’ve been ogling my ass, Stevie?”

“Am I not allowed to?” Steve asks sweetly, upon which Bucky laughs again.

“Whenever you want, sweetheart.” His smile suddenly drops. “Is it still okay if I call you that?” he asks, suddenly sounding worried. “I know it was just part of the act before—”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You  _ really  _ need to stop worrying so much,” he says with a pointed look, cutting the other man off. “It’s a petname; the point is that  _ you  _ pick it, not me.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t like it—”

“If it’s coming from you, there’s no possible way I won’t like it,” Steve assures him, and Bucky goes silent. For a while.

“Does that mean I get to call you Huggy-Bear from now on?” he asks hopefully.

“Except perhaps  _ that  _ name,” Steve decides firmly, twisting out of Bucky’s embrace to return to his bag.

“Aw, c’mon!” Bucky complains. “How about… Babydoll? Honey Buns? Fluffer Nutter?”

“Bucky, for the love of everything, be  _ quiet _ .”

 

/\/\/\

 

They check out of their room at exactly ten fifty-eight, and five minutes later they’re outside, staring at the empty parking space where Bucky’s car, according to plan, should have been parked.

“Oh, right…” Bucky says slowly, before giving Steve a sheepish little grin. 

The idea was that the two of them should have left the party last night together, and then walked back to get the car earlier this morning, before breakfast. That way, they would have had the car back  _ before  _ they were forced to check out of their room, not having to carry their luggage with them.

This, obviously, had not happened. 

“You let Tony drive the car back to the venue?” Steve asks, eyebrows high.

“Yeah,” Bucky rubs at his neck. “I figured the least I could do for having him drive me around was to not let him walk all the way back.”

“Tony? My cousin?” Steve repeats. “Driving the Mustang. Your most prized possession. By  _ himself _ ?”

“I know, I know,” Bucky says with a dismissive wave. “There’s no need to rub it in.” 

“Just checking,” Steve answers innocently. “Hey, on the way back, maybe we should stop by the hospital and get you a brain scan? Since you’re obviously suffering from a major concussion.”

“Shut up.” Bucky grimaces, and then he sighs, turning towards the sidewalk. “I guess we better start walking,” he suggests while hoisting his backpack higher onto his shoulder, and Steve shrugs. He doesn’t really care how they get to the car. As a matter of fact, he has a feeling that nothing will be able to put his mood down today, much less a fifteen-something minute walk in the sunshine.

They make it halfway, talking quietly between themselves, before Bucky’s stomach decides to pitch in to the conversation with a loud, deafening grumble.

“Hungry?” Steve asks.

“You don’t even know,” Bucky replies with a wistful sigh, rubbing a hand across his abs with a forlorn look on his face. “We better stop somewhere for food on the way home, or I’m gonna to start chewing the leather off the steering wheel…”

Steve wishes that he could say that he has a really hard time picturing that, but sadly, he can’t . 

As they enter the parking lot of the hotel, Steve immediately begins scanning the spaces for Bucky’s car. No matter how much he loves his cousin, that love still doesn’t equal complete and utter trust; especially if Tony thought that Bucky had been the reason Steve had been upset last night. 

Well… technically, Bucky  _ had  _ been the reason, but not like  _ that _ . Bucky should not have to suffer four slashed tires simply because Steve has an asshole of an overprotective relative. 

Before he finds the Mustang, however, his eyes lands on another familiar car, against whose trunk there leans an equally familiar body. Speak of the devil… 

“Good morning, snugglers,” Tony greets them. “Or should I say; ‘good afternoon’?”

“Hi, Tony,” Steve replies dryly, knowing from the look on Tony’s face that this is going to be one of  _ those  _ talks. 

Bucky, who’d been on his way towards the other side of the lot, stops dead in his tracks upon hearing Tony’s voice, before slowly turning back.

“Bucky!” Tony beams, as if seeing him is the best thing that could have happened that day. “Had a good night’s sleep?”

Bucky’s gaze flicker towards Steve, obviously sensing trouble.

“What do you want Tony?” Steve prompts, and Tony rolls his eyes to the sky as he sticks his hand into the pocket of his jacket.

“Oh, I just figured that I might as well hang around until you guys showed up, seeing as I still have this,” he says while pulling out the key to Bucky’s car, jingling it in the air.

Bucky reaches out to take it, but Tony instantly pulls the keys out of his reach, giving him a stern look.

“Not so fast, Romeo,” he warns, the cheer from just moments before now-gone from his voice. “I had to cancel a business meeting today because of you.” 

Bucky and Steve exchange equally remorseful looks from the corner of their eyes while Tony regards them in silence, like a parent looking at two misbehaving children.

“So tell me,” he says as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Was your little meltdown last night worth it? Or am I going to have to force the two of you into couple’s therapy?”

“We’re  _ fine _ , Stark,” Bucky grumbles. “We’ve sorted it out.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze on Steve.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve agrees. “We’re… good.”

“Good?” Tony repeats as his other eyebrow joins the first by his hairline. 

“Yes,” Steve deadpans.

“As in just ‘good’, or…?”

Steve and Bucky look at each other again. Steve licks his lips, Bucky swallows, and Tony’s face splits into a grin.

“Oooh, so you’re  _ good _ …” he leers. When all he gets back are two equally embarrassed glares, he throws his hands out to the side, shaking his head. “Well, what do you know… Guess hell had to freeze over one day.”

“Thanks,” Steve mutters, but Tony isn’t paying any attention to the sullen tone of his voice.

“So, you’re what now?” he asks. “Friends with benefits? Lovers? Will I be asked to be best man soon?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Steve warns grimly, but then he sighs, realizing that beating around the bush won’t do any good here.

“Bucky and I are… new,” he decides. He looks at Bucky, who meets his gaze. “We’ll need some time to catch up with each other, but once we do, I think we’ll turn out just fine.”

He looks back at Tony, who, for once, appears actually to be listening instead of figuring out witty responses.

“Unless, of course, you have any objections?” Bucky asks while puffing up his chest as if he’s getting ready for a fight. Tony turns to look at him, eyeing him up and down for a moment. Then he shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “I think I’m good.”

He looks down at the key in his hand. Then he holds it out towards Bucky in silent invitation, but just as Bucky’s hand is about to close around it, he pulls it back slightly, holding up a cautioning finger.

“And just to make things clear,” he says. “If you ever  _ do  _ happen to hurt my cousin…”

“... then so help me God,” Bucky finishes humbly. “Yeah, I’m perfectly clear on that by now.”

Tony purses his mouth, and then he nonchalantly drops the key into Bucky’s outstretched palm with a soft chime. “Well,” he declares loudly while leaning off his car. “My mission’s complete, so I guess I’ll be heading on home. Thanks for giving me an extra day off.”

“Anytime,” Bucky shoots back, and Tony rewards him by casually flipping him off.

“Tony—” Steve starts, but Tony holds up a hand, silencing him as he walks around towards the driver’s side of his car.

“Spare me the heartfelt moment, cuz,” he says. “You know I can’t drive with tears in my eyes.”

Steve shuts his mouth, swallowing down the ‘thank you’ he had just been about to utter, and Tony winks at him as he opens the door to slide into the driver’s seat.

“Oh, by the way,” Tony says, halting himself. “You guys should probably try to get a hold of Wanda before you leave. She was worried about you.”

A twinge of guilt courses through Steve’s chest, remembering how Wanda had talked so enthusiastically about the three of them hanging out the night before.

“Are they still here?” he asks, and Tony waves his hand towards the hotel.

“I met them in the lobby. They were going to eat lunch. You’ll probably find them over by the buffet.”

“Buffet?” Bucky echoes, eyes lighting up. 

“Yeah.” Tony replies, grinning. “The breakfasts are for guests only, but if you have your wallet on you, the lunch and dinner ones are open for the public. I hear it’s supposed to be delicious.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, grabbing Steve by the shoulder. “ _ Buffet _ .”

“I’ll leave the two of you alone to discuss the matter,” Tony smirks, once again making ready to get inside his car. “See you guys around.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve offers solemnly, and Tony waves a dismissive hand at him through the door before closing it, starting the engine up. Bucky gives the car a little nod as it passes, but as soon as the tail lights have disappeared down the road, he turns back to Steve, eyes big and pleading.

“C’mon,” he begs. “Please, just one plate.”

“I know what your plates look like,” Steve points out. “And they do  _ not  _ count as one.” 

Bucky makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat, the corners of his mouth dropping down into a pout. Then his expression changes, as if he just recalled something, and he slowly reaches out to slide his hand along the lapel of Steve’s jacket.

“Not even if I ask you nicely?” he asks as he looks at Steve from underneath his lashes.

“You already said please,” Steve reminds him, frowning while looking down at the hand touching his clothes. When Bucky lets out a low chuckle in response, he looks up, finding Bucky smirking at him.

“No, I mean, what if I asked you…” Bucky’s hand closes around Steve’s coat, slowly pulling him forward, “...really,  _ really  _ nicely…?”

Steve swallows hard as his pulse gives a hard stutter inside his veins. Bucky’s lips brushes against his in the most enticing of ways, and Steve closes his eyes with a low groan, gritting his teeth.

“You’re cheating,” he grates out slowly.

“I’m not cheating,” Bucky objects. The murmur of his voice is so close, Steve can practically taste the words on his lips. “I’m just trying to be polite.”

“This is not what being polite means.”

“Would you prefer it if I misbehaved?”

Steve takes a deep, calming breath, steadying himself against the innuendo in Bucky’s voice. The sound and feel of Bucky’s amused breath ghosting over his mouth has him balling his hands into fists just to keep them idle by his sides.

“Alright, one plate,” he falters. “But that’s  _ only  _ so that we can go apologize to Wanda and Jarvis.”

“Of course,” Bucky murmurs.

“Yes,” Steve insists, just barely keeping his voice from shaking. “Now, are you planning to kiss me anytime soon, or am I going to have to make the first move myself?”

Bucky hums, and then his lips finally seal themselves over Steve’s, the victory of getting his way making his mouth curl into a pleased little smile.

They quickly manage to locate Bucky’s Mustang in the parking lot, and after having ensured that it was still in one piece, they throw their bags into the trunk and head inside the hotel to look for the buffet.

The restaurant section is situated right next to the front desk; opposite of the hall where the wedding reception had been held, and Steve spots the brown curls of Wanda’s hair the very moment they step over the threshold. He resolutely grabs Bucky by the elbow, pulling him away from the food in spite of Bucky’s spluttered objections, and heads towards the couple’s table.

Wanda sees them coming, and she quickly swallows down the food she had been in the process of chewing as she raises her hand in greeting.

“Oh, there you are!” She swallows again while wiping at her mouth with her napkin, before standing up from her chair. “I was worried you weren’t going to say goodbye.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve says, smiling fondly as he reciprocates her hug when she reaches out for him, giving Jarvis a polite nod over her shoulder while he does so. It’s tricky, seeing as Wanda’s still so much taller than he is, but he manages.

“Where did you guys go last night?” Wanda asks, moving her hug over to Bucky. “I was worried something had happened.”

“Oh, no,” Bucky assures her. “We just… had some things we needed to clear out.”

“You guys didn’t fight, did you?” she asks while looking in between the two of them with big, worried eyes. “Tony said—”

“There was no problem,” Steve answers, smiling. “I got a phone call and had to get back to the hotel. I was in such a hurry, I didn’t realize Bucky still had our room key before I got there. Luckily, Tony stepped in and substituted as a driver in order to get Bucky and the keys to me.”

“Oh,” Wanda relaxes, visibly relieved, and Bucky leans in to give Steve a quick kiss on the cheek and a mumbled out, “Smooth…” against his ear.

“It really was a shame you had to leave so early,” Wanda says. “We really missed you.”

“It couldn’t be helped, sadly,” Steve says with an apologetic shrug.

“But everything’s all right now, right?” she asks, sounding worried again, and Steve’s smile widens in reassurance.

“Everything’s perfectly alright,” he answers with a glance at Bucky. “I’m lucky to have Bucky around to help me.”

“Indeed you are,” Wanda agrees. She gives Bucky a sly little smirk and a wink, which makes Bucky look about as proud as a peacock. Steve discreetly clears his throat, turning back to Wanda again.

“Anyway, we wanted to stop by and explain ourselves,” he offers, looking over at Jarvis. “It felt rude to just drive home after walking out on everything like that.”

“There’s no need to worry about that,” Jarvis says with a wave. “As long as everything’s alright and everyone’s healthy.”

“Sounds like a good philosophy,” Bucky chips in with a wide grin, and Jarvis gives him a quiet toast in return as he picks up his juice glass to drink.

“Are you two staying for lunch?” Wanda asks curiously.

“Yes,” Bucky declares, before Steve has a chance to say anything else. “I’m starving.”

“You should get going then, before the food runs out,” Wanda suggests with a smile, laughing again when Bucky turns around to look over to the side tables, as if he expects a horde of people to come charging towards the food at any moment. Steve smiles as well, knowing fully well how much Bucky’s pining for the various dishes on display on the other side of the room as he turns towards Wanda once more.

“It was nice seeing you again, Wanda,” he tells her solemnly. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“Aw, don’t thank me, Steve,” Wanda tells him fondly. “Your company is always welcome. In fact, we should get together sometime when we’re back from our honeymoon, the four of us. We could have dinner at our place; we have two spare bedrooms,” she adds cheekily towards Bucky. “So even if you guys  _ do  _ fight, you can still stay the night.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Steve says, sighing and rolling his eyes when Bucky turns around to look at the food once again. Wanda notices, and she gives Bucky a quick tap on the shoulder to snap him back to attention.

“Make sure you’re not too stuffed to drive once you’re done,” she warns. “They have a dessert table that’s out of this world.”

“Don’t give him any challenges,” Steve mutters. “It’ll only encourage him.”

“Go eat, you two,” Wanda orders, laughing even as she ushers them away. “Thanks for everything. And have a safe drive home.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says, already moving.

“We will,” Steve replies. “And I’ll make sure to call you about that dinner.”

“Do that,” Wanda says with a nod.

“Take good care of each other,” Steve prompts, just as he feels Bucky’s hand latch onto his elbow, pulling slightly.

“Don’t worry,” Jarvis answers. “We will.”

With another, harder tug, Bucky turns Steve around to drag him along towards the food warmers lining the wall. They’ve only gotten about three or four steps, however, when Wanda calls out to them again.

“By the way, Steve,” she says. “How did you guys know we wanted a grill?”

Steve blinks, looking over his shoulder. Then he smiles.

“Let’s just call it a lucky guess.”

 

/\/\/\

 

Bucky pays the buffet for both of them and he’s halfway down the row of plated food before Steve has even collected his knife and fork. Steve watches as his new lover stacks his plate full with American styled grilled meats, Asian inspired noodle dishes, a big ladleful of Indian curry, served with rice, and two big pieces of freshly baked bread, covered in herb-seasoned butter.

How all that could possibly fit onto a single plate, much less Bucky’s stomach, is a conundrum that Steve prefers not to think about.

While Bucky balances his overstacked tray towards one of the tables near the windows, Steve begins to plate his own food. He’s just contemplating whether he should go with chicken or beef alongside his noodles when another tray slides up next to his, a body following to occupy the space right by Steve’s left shoulder.

“Didn’t think I’d get to catch you back here again,” Brock drawls as he flips a piece of steak onto his plate. “Wanda said you left in such a hurry last night, I thought you’d be back home in Brooklyn by now.”

Steve looks up, scowling, and with a snappy objection already at the tip of his tongue when his gaze lands on his former boyfriend’s face.

Brock is clearly hungover. His hair is rumpled, there are wrinkles on his v-necked t-shirt, and if the faint, red-ish color of his eyes is a clue, Steve would like to guess that the other man has probably been asleep up until just ten minutes ago.

It’s a ragged sight, and as Brock chucks another steak on top of his first one with an annoyed huff, Steve is suddenly overcome with pity for him. This man, who had been so obsessed by the thought of not being alone, that he had even contemplated hooking up with his ex just to avoid being seen in public without company.

It strikes him then, how alike their trains of thought must have been; about the wedding, about seeing each other again. So worried about being laughed at by the other that they both had put up some sort of act, just to impress. To seem less lonely than they had actually felt.

He swallows as he returns his attention to his plate, settling on the chicken before taking a step to the side towards the next dish.

Brock must have noticed his unspoken retort, because when he speaks again, his voice is provoking, almost angry.

“So why  _ did  _ you leave like that?” he asks. “Did Bucky do a bad? Is there trouble in paradise?”

It hits Steve, right then and there, with that single line, why Brock is behaving the way he is. Why he had practically gone out of his way the night before to put Bucky and Steve’s relationship down; the reason as to why he is now so insistent on knowing why the two of them had left the way they had. It’s radiating off of Brock’s body like a heat wave, prickling and buzzing; so blatant, unschooled, and evident. 

Jealousy. 

Brock is practically  _ seething  _ with it, and the tension is building for every second Steve leaves Brock’s question unanswered. Honestly, Steve can’t believe how he could have missed it. 

Tony had been so close to the truth when he said that Brock had most likely been counting on Steve to be his Plan B for the night, but even that hadn’t been all of it.

Brock had planned to bring a date in order to make  _ Steve jealous _ . He had not expected Steve to bring a date of his own, and when  _ his  _ date cancelled on him, Brock had suddenly found himself at a disadvantage. Suddenly  _ he  _ was the one alone; the one being ignored. 

Brock’s never been one to handle rejection or defeat very well, Steve’s known him long enough to be aware of that. He should have been able to recognize the signs. To spot the tells. 

Brock is  _ jealous  _ of him and Bucky, and Steve can’t for the life of him recall why he had been so intimidated by this man, or what Brock thought of him, less than a day prior.

“There’s no trouble,” he answers calmly as he places a lade of steaming curry next to his chicken. “We just had some things to take care of.”

“That’s why you didn’t leave at the same time?” Brock sneers. He sounds as if he’s just managed to catch Steve in the middle of a lie, but Steve isn’t about to let himself get deterred by that. He picks up a slice of bread to smear some butter on it, while trying to look as if he’s contemplating what to answer.

“I had a… surprise for Bucky,” he says slowly, making sure to chose his words with the utmost, suggestive delicacy. “And I had to leave first in order to get it ready for him.”

Brock sends him a sharp glance at that, his lips pinched tight. Steve can tell that he’s aching to ask what kind of surprise that had been, but he also knows that Brock would rather cut off his own tongue than to admit such a curiosity.

“And in case you’d like to know,” Steve therefore continues, as he looks up to meet Brock’s gaze with the most smug, flippant grin that he can muster while dropping his buttered bread onto his plate. “Bucky really,  _ really  _ appreciated it.”

He picks up his tray, and then he turns around, and walks away, leaving Brock to stare at his back while he makes his way across the room towards Bucky and their table. There is a little voice in the back of his head that tells him that he probably could have handled that better; more maturely and less like some smug teenager, but he doesn’t care. 

Today is too much of a good day for him to worry about being rude to people who were rude to him first, no matter their reasons for it.

Bucky is glaring at Brock when Steve arrives at the table, most likely having witnessed their conversation from a distance.

“So what did Mr Might-Have-Been want?” he grumbles when Steve takes a seat opposite of him, probably trying to sound as if he doesn’t really care, but failing horribly.

“He just wanted to check if the two of us broke up last night,” Steve answers calmly. “Estimating his chances.”

“Well, too bad for him we did the exact opposite of that,” Bucky says, snorting as he stabs a piece of chicken with his fork.

“Yeah. I basically told him that we had been too busy banging each other's brains out to break up,” Steve admits with an amused chuckle, and Bucky looks up at him, chicken halted halfway to his mouth.

“You  _ didn’t _ ,” he says, and when Steve only nods, Bucky starts laughing so hard he has to put the fork back down.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you actually told him that,” he snickers after Steve has finished recounting the conversation, covering his eyes with his hand. “Man, I wish I could have taken a picture of his face! I would have framed it and hung it in my living room.”

“I’d prefer it if Brock stayed out of your living room,” Steve points out. “Or any of your rooms, actually.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky says, smiling. “He’s not really my type.”

“Oh?” Steve arches his eyebrows in faked interest. “Then please, do tell, what  _ is  _ your type?”

“Well, you know…” Bucky grins as he leans on the tabletop with his elbows. “Good sense of humour, handsome… Blond hair, blue eyes. Someone who’s not afraid to put me in my place from time to time.”

“Is that so?” Steve asks smugly. 

“It is,” Bucky replies. “And what about you? What kind of guy would you like to take home with you tonight?”

“I’m looking at him,” Steve answers blatantly, and the tip of Bucky’s ears immediately turn bright pink as he ducks his head, averting his eyes to his plate.

“Smooth-ass punk…” he huffs, and Steve answers by giving Bucky’s leg a light, affectionate kick underneath the table.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> As usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I do my best to respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	6. To Have and To Hold

The buffet turns out to be the best food Steve has ever eaten in his life. The meat is tender, the vegetables crispy, and Steve honestly can’t decide which dish he likes the most. Bucky, of course, goes back for both seconds  _ and  _ dessert, but once Steve has managed to convince him that half a lemon meringue pie doesn’t really count as ‘a slice’, they decide that it’s time to leave. 

Ignoring Steve’s reprimanding glare, Bucky manages to grab himself a handful of bite-sized butter cookies when they pass the serving table, dividing them equally between the pockets of his jacket and his mouth on their way out.

“You’re a pig…” Steve mutters as they step outside, giving the cookie in Bucky’s hand a dirty look. “You’re lucky your metabolism’s so messed up you can eat all that without any consequences.”

“Geere ‘asty,” Bucky defends himself, cheeks bulging from the half-eaten treats already in his mouth. Steve shakes his head as he hides the amused smile threatening to give him away behind the back of his hand. 

Minutes later, they’re back in Bucky’s car, heading onto the road with Bucky’s favorite album blaring from the speakers. The sun is shining, traffic is thin, and Steve is absolutely sure that he has never seen a sky this blue before.

They are just passing the outskirts of town when Steve remembers his phone. He hasn’t checked it since the night before, and if he’s right, then he probably has five million missed calls from Tony to sort through before they get back home.

He twists around in the driver’s seat and collects his jacket from the back seat to fish his cell out of the inner pocket. As suspected, there are plenty of missed calls, though perhaps not as many as five million. He quickly deletes the posts containing Tony’s number, leaving him looking down at the remaining three notifications that are shining up at him from the screen.

The notifications are easily discerned from one another; two missed calls and one text message declaring that he has received a new voicemail. All of them are from Bucky’s cell phone, and suddenly Steve remembers what Bucky had said last night when he had returned Steve’s jacket down in the hotel lobby.

He erases the missed calls from the list, and then quickly punches in the number to his voicemail before bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” Bucky asks while courteously reaching out to lower the volume of the radio for him. 

“I’m checking my messages,” Steve answers simply, and Bucky’s jaw immediately drops to join his shoes down in the footwell of the driver’s seat.

“Why?” he asks, eyes nervously flitting between Steve and the road ahead.

“Because that’s what you normally do when your new boyfriend leaves you a message,” Steve retorts.

“You know, you don’t have to listen to it,” Bucky offers. He shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “It’s not like I said anything important.”

“I wanna hear it,” Steve objects. He puts his hand over his other ear to better hear the recorded voice on the other end of the line inform him that he has received exactly one new voicemail.

“No, really, you’re better off not,” Bucky promises. He leans across his seat to reach for the phone in Steve’s hand. “Seriously, Steve, I was drunk, and I didn’t—”

“Quiet.” Steve frowns, moving his phone to his other hand while simultaneously leaning out of Bucky’s reach. “I can’t hear anything.”

“Steve, knock it off. Give me the phone.”

“No.”

“I said, give me the damn  _ phone _ ,” Bucky demands, louder, and the car makes a sharp swerve as he launches himself towards Steve’s arm in a final, desperate attempt to steal the cell from his hand.

“ _ No, _ ” Steve answers, just as loudly while pressing himself against the passenger door, hunching together to keep Bucky away. “Eyes on the road, will you?”

“Steve, I swear—”

“ _ Hey… _ ”

Steve shushes Bucky as Bucky's voice scratchily comes through the receiver of the phone, and Bucky shut his mouth with a light clench of his jaw.

_ “... it’s me.” _

There’s a pause, and Steve’s annoyed frown immediately smoothes over into a look of guilt-ridden empathy. Bucky sounds like a wreck.

_ “I know you probably don’t wanna talk to me right now. I’m guessing that's why you’re not picking up…” _ Another pause – the only sound heard is Bucky’s shaky breathing as he pulls air deep into his lungs.  _ “Dammit, Steve, we have to talk about this. _ ” 

Steve swallows when he hears Bucky’s voice crack, and behind the wheel, the present Bucky straightens up, shoulders squaring.

_ “I know I fucked up, alright?” _ phone-Bucky continues, his voice thick and trembling.  _ “I shouldn’t have tried to push you into anything, that was stupid. _ I’m _ fucking stupid, I—” _

Steve's gut lurches. Oh, Bucky… 

_ “I just can’t quit you,” _ Bucky grits out, as if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever admitted.  _ “I know you’ll ask me to, Stevie, but I can’t. I’m not gonna be able to take it back, because I love you, and I can’t stop. I think about you all the fucking time. I wake up in the morning and I just can’t wait to see your face, or hear your voice… God, your fucking voice, man…” _

The last part comes out like a half-dazed sigh, and the corner of Steve’s lip quirks up. 

_ “You’re like this— This perfect goddamn person,” _ phone-Bucky declares, almost sounding as if the thought alone is making him angry.  _ “I mean, you’re  _ funny _ , and  _ smart _. You’re generous, and you always think about other people. Hell, if someone tried to rob you they’d be more likely to end up buying you a drink rather than stealing your wallet, because that’s how amazing you are… And you're so fucking beautiful, Steve. You’re so damn pretty, and you don’t even know it. When you smile, it's like someone flipped a freaking light switch on, and you’ve got these  _ eyes  _ like—” _

Bucky’s voice chokes, and inside his chest Steve feels something big and fuzzy, like a cat waking up from a nap, stretch out to spread a pleasant heat throughout his body.

_ “I won’t force you to talk to me,” _ phone-Bucky says quietly. _ “Alright? I swear, I won’t. But please, don’t ask me to stay away from you. Don’t send me away, Steve, please, I couldn’t—” _

The voice on the phone gets muffled, as if it’s changed hands, and Steve hears the sound of a strained sob reach the microphone from somewhere far away before Bucky’s voice returns, teary and pleading.

_ “Just… Call me when you get this, okay? Promise me you’ll call. Whatever you want, Steve, I swear, I  _ promise _ , we can—”  _ There is a pause.  _ “We can fix this…” _

Steve waits until the faint click of the speaker announces that the message has ended, before he hangs up the call. He swallows hard, slowly lowering the phone to his lap.

“You’re such an idiot,” he grates, struggling to hold back an emotional grin when Bucky turns to stare at him, wide eyed with worry. 

“You really think my eyes are that pretty?” he asks shyly, and he feels quite accomplished when the comment manages to turn Bucky’s ears a glowing red, for the third time that day.

“Shut up,” Bucky mutters and Steve breaks out into a snicker.

“Why didn’t you want me to hear that?” he asks curiously. “That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. Or  _ about  _ me, for that matter.”

“C’mon, I sounded like a  _ girl _ ,” Bucky winces. “I was being all  _ sappy _ . Choking up and—”

“Crying,” Steve supplies helpfully.

“Yes, alright, I cried,” Bucky confesses grumpily. “I admit it, are you happy?”

“Actually, I am,” Steve declares with a grin. “Not that you cried,” he explains quickly. “But that you're willing to admit it.”

“Well, you better savour it,” Bucky mutters. “Because it's not happening again anytime soon.”

“Hopefully there won't be any crying to admit,” Steve agrees. “I mean, you've already seen Armageddon, so you should be in the clear.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Bucky objects loudly. “You can't hold  _ that one _ against me.”

“Bucky, we had to  _ pause _ the movie,” Steve says, laughing.

“It was cruel,” Bucky grumbles while straightening up in his seat. “They could at least have given us a warning or something…”

“It told you it was gonna be sad,” Steve points out. Which is true, he really had tried.

“Sad, yes,” Bucky retorts. “You didn't say anything about me getting my damn  _ heart  _ ripped out.”

“I may have left that part out, yes,” Steve admits. “But you’ve always said you hate spoilers, so…”

“You just enjoy watching me suffer,” Bucky huffs in acted offence.

“You're absolutely right,” Steve nods. “I have very recently developed a secret fascination for you and your bodily fluids.”

Bucky snorts, but Steve sees the way his shoulders relax as he catches on to the double innuendo. “Yeah, I bet you have, you kinky little bastard…”

The reply has Steve smirking, and Bucky sends him a quick little smile from the corner of his eye. “So,” he says meaningly, and Steve blinks.

“So, what?”

“So what about you?” Bucky pushes. “I've told you what I think of you—”

“Most unwillingly,” Steve chips in.

“Still counts,” Bucky decides. “So now it’s your turn to tell me what you like about me. I mean, there's gotta be  _ something _ , right?”

“There are plenty of things I like about you, yeah,” Steve agrees. 

“Like…?”

Steve closes his eyes and leans his head against the backrest while thinking his answer over. It’s not that he has trouble finding things to list; he just has trouble choosing which thing to go with first.

“I like your hair,” he decides eventually. “Especially when you've just showered and haven't had time to put any products in it yet. It brings out your curls more.”

“Okay?” Bucky chuckles. It’s obvious from the tone of his voice that he finds the idea close to unthinkably silly.

“I also like your singing voice,” Steve continues. “And the way you hum lyrics under your breath while you cook. And how you make up your own words when you can’t remember the original ones. I… I love your eyes. They make me think of lazy Friday nights, and burgers served with cold beer in front of the TV.”

“That's… oddly specific,” Bucky says slowly.

“I also like your shoulders.” Steve reaches out and gently slides his fingers up Bucky's arm to curl them around the top of his shoulder. “They've always looked so safe to me. So wide and solid.”

This time Bucky doesn’t say anything. Instead, he makes sure to keep his eyes on the road while he turns his head to the side to press a quick, firm kiss against Steve’s knuckles, before straightening back up.

It’s probably the closest thing to a humbled ‘thank you’ that Bucky’s able to produce at the moment. Steve can see that he’s moved by Steve’s words, even though he tries to act as if they aren’t that big of a deal.

It strikes Steve that Bucky probably doesn’t get that many compliments from other people. Of course, people consider him to be good looking, hard working, charming, and funny, but Steve can’t really recall ever having heard anyone say it to Bucky’s face. It’s always in passing, when Bucky has his back turned, or goes away to fetch something.

People – Steve himself included – just assume that Bucky knows. That he knows what an amazing person he is, how happy he makes the people around him. Bucky had called Steve beautiful, knowing that Steve has never thought of himself that way, but Steve in turn has been even less observing when it comes to Bucky. 

Bucky knows that he looks good, but… just because he  _ knows  _ doesn’t necessarily mean that he  _ believes  _ it. 

Steve sighs as he looks at the man by his side. He takes in the sight of the light stubble covering Bucky’s jaw, the way the muscles of his forearms stand out in the sharp sunlight shining in through the windows of the car. 

It’s a shame, he decides, that a work of art never can enjoy its own beauty. Unless it has a mirror to study its own reflection in… 

Luckily, Steve knows exactly how to be a mirror. 

“I love you,” he says bluntly, making Bucky’s face crack open in a wide smile.

“I love you too,” he answers, both looking and sounding ridiculously happy. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” Steve continues. “All of you.”

“Alright?”

“I think you’re funny. And that you smell really good.”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “What is this?” he asks. “Some sort of compliment contest?”

“I think you’re smart,” Steve carries on firmly, ignoring the question. “You’ve always been quick to find your footing, no matter the situation. You can fix practically anything that breaks,  _ with  _ literally anything you happen to get your hands on at the time. You’re always ready to step up and defend people, even if you don’t know them. You’re righteous, and humble, and I love you.”

Bucky’s tongue swipes out to wet his lower lip when Steve falls silent, and it takes more than just a moment before he finally opens his mouth again.

“Wow…” he says. Then he doesn’t say anything else for almost a full minute. “I don’t—” he stutters. “I mean, I don’t know—” He turns his head briefly towards Steve, looking close to awestruck. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Steve says with a smile.

Bucky still looks dazed when he turns his eyes back towards the road. Dazed, but happy. Steve has to say, giving Bucky compliments turns out the be a very easy, yet extremely gratifying way of making Bucky smile. And Steve always likes it when Bucky smiles.

Still… Saying things are easy, and Steve wants to show Bucky that he really means all the things he just said. Wants to prove it with every single fibre of his being, in all the ways he can possibly think of.

Absentmindedly, his thoughts wander back to their morning at the hotel. Waking up with Bucky right there by his side, arms wrapped tight around him. Warm and safe. 

Back home they won’t have any deadlines, no limits to how long they are allowed to stay in bed. The can stay there all day if they want to. Just kissing and touching… mapping each other out slowly.

He glances at Bucky, noticing how his own pulse has begun to beat a little bit faster as his libido picks up on his thought process.

He wonders how Bucky would want to be touched.

Some of Bucky’s reactions from the night before are still sharp and clear within Steve’s memory, but thinking back at those moments, they had all been so intense. There hadn’t been time for questions, reassurances, slow explorations, or slow anythings, really.

What  _ does  _ he know about Bucky and sex, when it all comes down to it? What his preferences are, what he likes, dislikes? He knows everything else about the guy; it’s just the sex that’s new. He can recite all of Bucky’s favorite songs from memory, his favorite food, where he went to school, his childhood dreams. 

There are literally no more safe-for-work, first-date topics left for them to discuss. And Steve has questions – so many things he is aching to know.

He ponders whether or not he should keep his mouth shut, but decides that it can’t exactly do any harm to  _ ask _ . As he turns towards Bucky again, he slowly licks his lips.

“I'd like to ask you a few questions,” he announces gravely, and Bucky’s brow furrows

“Alright?” he answers hesitantly. “What kind of questions?”

“Sexual questions,” Steve clarifies, and the notch in Bucky’s throat bobs when Bucky swallows hard. 

“Alright…” he repeats once more, his lip quirking. “You’re being quite the chatterbox today, aren’t you?”

“There are things about you that I wanna know,” Steve says. “Things I figure we know each other well enough by now not beat around the bush about.”

“Should I be nervous about this?” Bucky asks, laughing.

“I doubt it,” Steve replies, completely honest. “It’s more like… You said it yourself that time in my living room; we practically know everything there is to know about one another. Except… sexually.”

Bucky licks his lips, nodding. “Agreed,” he says carefully.

“So I'm just gonna ask you some questions,” Steve explains. “And you don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want to…”

“But?” Bucky prompts, having already heard the unspoken continuation of Steve’s sentence.

“But,” Steve echoes, “for every question you  _ do _ answer, I promise I’ll answer the same one for you.”

“Well, I like the sound of that,” Bucky hums with a smirk.

“So, I’ll just go ahead then?” Steve prompts.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Shoot.”

Steve looks at Bucky. He takes in the sight of his torn jeans and worn leather jacket, while the plethora of questions he can hardly wait to ask crowds inside his head. He decides to go with a basic one; one that he might even be able to make good use of in the near future.

“What are your turn-ons?” he asks, narrowing his eyes slightly. 

“Oh, wow, uhm…” Bucky chuckles. “Are you sure you don't know those already?” 

“Pretty sure,” Steve replies with a smirk. “And even if I did, I figured it might be a good idea to make sure, don’t you agree?”

“Fair enough…” Bucky licks his lips. “Then teasing, I guess. You know, when someone says a thing that could mean something completely innocent, but you both know that's it's actually not. Or when they… drag stuff out during sex. Making you wait before letting you get to the good part.”

Steve nods in silent agreement as Bucky continues, “Then there's… It's almost the same, really, but, dirty talking. Not name calling,” he adds firmly. “I don't get off on being called a whore, or a slut, but having someone describe to me what they're doing, or what they want to do. Or asking me to tell them what  _ I'd _ like them to do. That's pretty hot.”

“I'll make sure to remember that,” Steve promises. “Anything else?”

“Hair pulling.” Bucky answers immediately. “Like, any sort of subtle domination, really. Hair pulling, manhandling, lip biting… I like when I get to kick it back and just enjoy the ride. Not having to think.”

“In other words, you're lazy,” Steve teases.

“Call it what you like,” Bucky says, grinning. “There, I've answered the question. It's your turn.”

“My turn-ons?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods.

Steve chews his bottom lip for a second. “Well, you already know of one,” he says slowly. “Though, I think it’s more of a fantasy than a turn-on, really, since I haven’t done it yet.”

“What, the bondage thing?”

“Yeah.” Steve frowns. “But not the whole thing with whips, and gags, and all that other… stuff. Just the restraints in general. Some people seem to think that just because someone’s tied up they need to be abused in some way.” He grimaces as the memory of far too many unforeseen Google Search results makes a reappearance in his memory. “Getting restrained for me means more than just being made immobile. It’s slower. More sensual. It’s about trust, respect, and the build-up in general.”

“So… you’re saying you wanna get tied up?” Bucky asks, while sending him an intrigued look from the corner of his eye.

“No,” Steve admits, meeting Bucky’s gaze. “I’m saying I wanna be the one in charge of the knots.”

Bucky drags in a slow, shaky breath as he quickly turns his gaze back to the road. There’s a long silence that stretches on for what feels like ages, and then Bucky swallows and opens his mouth.

“Well…” he says slowly. “I mean, I don’t think I’d… mind something like that. Not really.”

Steve straightens up. “You’d be willing to do that?” he asks, genuinely surprised. “To let me tie you up?”

“Weren’t you paying attention just now?” Bucky asks. “I told you I like manhandling. Domination. If you’d offer to tie me up, not matter how slow or artsy, I’d say yes before you even finished the question.”

“Oh.” Steve blinks. He honestly hadn’t considered that Bucky would actually respond to his admittance with  _ curiosity _ . Confessing to someone you literally just got together with romantically that you enjoy the thought of rope play is something he’d expected a much less eager response to.

“You still have two turn-ons to go to make us even,” Bucky reminds him. “Though I don’t know how you expect to top that first one.”

“I— I like kissing,” Steve says, quickly moving on. “All kinds of it. I don’t know why, but… getting a real good kiss is usually just as efficient for me as long foreplay is. Only quicker.”

“Consider that noted,” Bucky drawls.

“And I like it when my partner gets loud,” Steve adds. “In that way when they’re not really aware that they’re  _ being _ loud, but more like they can’t hold back. A little desperate, if that makes sense?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nods. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

“It doesn’t sound weird to you?” Steve asks.

“Did last night leave you with temporary amnesia?” Bucky asks, laughing out loud this time. “Loud sex is the best sex.”

“Unless you’re the neighbor being forced to listen to the loud sex through your bedroom wall,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, alright, apart from that,” Bucky admits with a grin. “Next question.”

“What’s the most sensitive part of your body?” Steve asks without even having to stop to think about it. “Except the obvious choice, of course.”

Bucky’s breath makes an awkward little stutter, and even though he tries to cover it up with a cough, Steve still notices.

“What?” he asks, canting his head.

“Yeah, that’s—” Bucky clears his throat. “I guess, my chest?”

“Your chest?” Steve repeats.

“My nipples.”

Steve’s gaze immediately drops to lock onto the front of Bucky’s t-shirt. It’s just an ordinary band shirt, and Steve notes with fascination that he can see the perky tips of Bucky’s nipples clearly where they press against the fabric.

“Interesting,” he mumbles.

Bucky’s eyes flash his way, wide and nervous. When he speaks, there’s a slight croak in his voice as he grates out, “Your turn.”

“The inside of my thighs,” Steve answers, without a moment of hesitation. “Whenever I touch myself, I always touch myself there first.”

“Oh, wow,” Bucky breathes out, chuckling. “Thanks for  _ that  _ image, pal.”

“What image?” Steve asks. “Me touching myself?”

“Yeah,  _ that one, _ ” Bucky says pointedly. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m trying to drive here.”

“You can’t imagine me doing that and drive at the same time?” Steve asks, smiling. “That’s a shame. And here I was, thinking that you might enjoy the thought of me, all alone on my bed… with my hands all over my body…” 

Bucky’s fingers make a hard, uncontrolled twitch against the steering wheel.

“I mean, that’s where I usually go to touch myself. My bed,” Steve continues innocently. “Sometimes I just lie down with my work clothes still on when I get home. I just toss my suit jacket off and let myself fall down, lying on my back mostly.”

He dares a quick glance to the side to see if Bucky is still listening. Bucky’s eyes are aimed straight for the road, but going by the way his throat is working, he’s indeed paying attention to what Steve’s talking about.

“Somehow, my hands always find their way to my thighs first…” Steve murmurs. Studiously slow, he lets his voice drop lower while he speaks, and Bucky’s fingers curl even further around the wheel as he tightens his jaw with a quiet inhale through his nose.

“I usually start by slowly rubbing them up and down,” Steve drawls. “Squeezing all the way from the hip down, until my arms can’t reach any further.”

As he talks, he lets the hands on his leg mimic the instructions of his voice, and he sees Bucky’s eyes flicker to the side as he locks onto the movement out of the corner of his eye, following it with his gaze.

“I curl my fingers inward,” Steve sighs as he lets his hands do the same. “Smoothing them up, really light…” He lets his breath hitch, perhaps a bit too dramatically, but it has the effect he wants, because Bucky’s mouth fall open with a soft groan to mirror the sound.

“It always feels so good,” Steve breathes out, spreading his legs wider. “I can’t wait until you touch me there… With those big, strong hands of yours. I bet they’ll feel amazing.”

Bucky shifts to push his hips further into his seat, and Steve hums. “Would you like to touch my thighs, Buck?” he asks, rubbing his hand up and down. “Or maybe you’d prefer to use your mouth? To slide your lips all over my skin…? Maybe nip at them with your teeth? You could leave love bites all over me while I hold onto your hair to steer you where I want you to go.”

“Jesus Christ…” Bucky groans.

“Would you like that?” Steve repeats eagerly. “Because I would.”

“Dude, you’re gonna get us both killed if you keep talking like that.”

“Like what?” Steve asks innocently. “Like I want you to pull over right now so I can order you to have your way with me in the back seat?”

Bucky grits his teeth, and leaning in closer, Steve decides that he most definitely could get used to the desperate look currently plastered over his boyfriend’s face.

“Too bad we’re on the highway,” he whispers, noticing how the muscles in Bucky’s thighs clench in response to the words. “I’m literally  _ dying  _ to touch you right now. I miss your pretty noises, Buck. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to contain myself until we get back home.”

He reaches out and puts his hand on Bucky’s knee, squeezing, and Bucky gasps out loud as he jerks in his seat, causing the car to momentarily veer off course. “Jesus Christ, don’t  _ do  _ that!” he croaks, regaining control of himself and the vehicle once more. 

“What?” Steve asks innocently. “I’m hardly doing anything.”

“You’re trying to give me a goddamn heart attack, that’s what you’re doing,” Bucky grumbles. “And stop using that voice, it gives me the chills,” he adds under his breath, making Steve’s eyebrows arch.

“I thought you said you liked my voice?” he asks, confused.

“That’s sort of my point,” Bucky comments testily. “Your voice gets me riled up normally, but when you use it like that, you’re just being a dick.”

“Is that so?” Steve purrs. “Then here’s my next question, Buck… When did you first become so fascinated with my voice?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking,” he warns. “But I honestly didn’t notice that about you until like, less than a year ago.”

“Go on,” Steve coaxes, and Bucky laughs, as if he just recalled something funny.

“It was that time when you had just started your new job. When I still drove you to work.” He takes a deep breath, sending Steve a hesitant glance before continuing. “I was calling you in the morning to let you know I was on my way, and when you picked up— I swear to God, I thought I had caught you in the middle of rubbing one out or something. Your voice was all thick and throaty… It practically screamed sex at me all the way through the phone, and I honestly think my heart stopped beating there for a second or two.”

He brings a hand up to rub it hard over his mouth.

“I managed to make some sort of joke about it, I think, but I can’t remember what I said. And you, you fucker… You  _ giggled _ , all drowsy and sexy, right into my ear. You damn near killed me. I had to jerk off before I could even walk out the goddamn door.”

“I overslept,” Steve recalls. “It was my second week, and I had forgotten to set my alarm after the weekend. Your call woke me up. I remember, because I thought it was strange that you called me to let me know you were coming, and then you showed up late anyway.”

“Well, I had somewhat of an emergency on my hands,” Bucky mutters, and Steve chuckles. He looks at Bucky, and slowly he lets the hand, which is still poised on top of Bucky’s leg, inch itself upward.

“So…” Steve drawls, purposely adding a bit of a suggestive gravel to his tone. “You like it when I use my voice like that? When I let it go all deep and rough?”

“Yeah,” Bucky responds while sending flickering glances at the hand slowly travelling up his lap.

“What else do you like  _ deep and rough _ , Bucky?” Steve asks, and he watches with amused pride how Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips in a nervous swipe.

“Pretty much everything…” Bucky rasps. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Steve murmurs while rubbing his fingertips lightly against the seam of Bucky’s zipper. “Just curious.”

Bucky’s hip stutter at the touch, instinctively pivoting into Steve’s hand, and Steve’s fingers skate over the suggestive bulge which is suddenly pressing in against the centre of his palm. 

“Well, what do you know…” he smirks. “I guess dirty talk really  _ is  _ one of your turn-ons.”

Bucky groans while pressing his head against the headrest of his seat as he pushes his pelvis towards the heat of Steve’s hand. But the gratifying pressure he probably expects to find there remains unconveyed when Steve promptly removes his hand, returning to the passenger seat.

“What, that’s it?” Bucky asks indignantly.

Steve looks at him, feigning that he’s thinking the alternatives over. “For now,” he decides. “At least until we get back home. We promised Wanda to drive safely, didn’t we?”

“Don’t you dare use her as a scapegoat for this,” Bucky warns. “If you actually cared about safe driving, you wouldn’t be feeling me up in the middle of the interstate in the first place.”

“I was simply making an assessment,” Steve defends himself. “I’ve concluded that you’re a very easily distracted driver, along with the fact that you’ll be an absolutely gorgeous addition to my bedroom once we get back home.”

“Oh, I fucking hate you,” Bucky grits out, letting one of his hands leave the steering wheel to adjust himself through his jeans.

“Patience is a virtue, Buck,” Steve sing-songs; a comment Bucky silently responds to by slowly increasing the pressure on the gas pedal.

 

/\/\/\

 

The remaining fifty-seven minutes of the drive home are the most amusing minutes of Steve’s day.

Bucky is obviously trying to calm himself down after Steve’s rather graphic musings from before, and Steve quickly makes a decision not to let that happen.

Every time Bucky looks as if he’s about to let his guard down, Steve casually drops an innocent comment just to let him know that the game is far from over. Like how warm the car is while casually popping the button of his collar, before immediately changing his mind and rolling down the passenger window instead. He also makes sure to keep touching Bucky’s body as much as he possibly can. A palm to a bicep here, a flutter of fingers over the neck there… Steve knows that Bucky is well aware of what he's doing, but even though Bucky keeps cursing under his breath every time Steve's touches catches him off-guard, he still doesn't tell Steve to stop.

It’s hilarious, to be honest; awakening a sadistic side of him that Steve hadn’t really been aware of before. Keeping Bucky on constant edge is highly amusing, and by the time Bucky pulls the car up in front of Steve’s building, Bucky is literally squirming in his seat. 

Oddly enough, even after Steve goes to retrieve his suitcase from the trunk of the vehicle, Bucky still doesn’t make any move to get out of the car.

“You gonna stay in there all evening?” Steve asks while leaning in to look at Bucky through the rolled-down window. 

Bucky’s mouth opens and then closes again, while his eyes flicker towards the entrance to Steve’s apartment building.

“Why, I thought— I mean, I didn’t know—”

“You think all that talk on the way here was something I did just because I liked the sound of my own voice?” Steve drawls. Bucky swallows, his mouth closing as Steve reaches down and opens the driver door.

“If you have the time, of course?” Steve asks graciously. He tries not to laugh when Bucky immediately tries to step out of the car, which results in him stumbling backwards with a low yelp a split second later as his still-buckled seatbelt promptly bungees him back into his seat.

Bucky keeps his distance as Steve unlocks the door to the apartment building, and Steve’s mind flashes back to the night before. Once again, Bucky is following him, waiting for him to take the lead and show him where to go. The thought makes Steve’s heart flutter, and he can’t help the anticipating shudder that goes through him when the door closes behind them both, leaving them in the momentary dusk of the stairwell.

Steve’s apartment is on the second floor. It’s a short journey, but even though the familiar stairs are climbed in practically no time at all, the overwhelming sense of deja vu causes Steve’s pulse to race by the time they reach his front door. As he puts his keys into the lock, his heart is pounding as if he’s just scaled an entire mountain, excitement curling in the pit of his stomach.

He opens the door and steps inside, hearing Bucky follow him. The door closes with a soft click when Bucky locks it behind them, just as Steve’s trembling hand finds the light switch to illuminate the hall.

Steve’s suitcase hits the floor with a thump when Steve feels Bucky’s chest slot up against the back of his shoulders. As Bucky towers behind him, Steve can feel his arms come around to circle his waist, and Bucky’s voice is hushed as he ghosts his lips against Steve’s neck. 

“You know, I feel like I’m dreaming…” he murmurs softly, as if he truly can’t believe it.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “Me too.”

The grip around his torso tightens, and he feels Bucky press his forehead against the nape of his neck.

“I don’t wanna wake up,” Bucky confesses. His voice is barely audible as he breathes the words against Steve’s skin, and Steve cants his head back to rub his nose against the soft strands of Bucky’s hair.

“Then don’t,” he breathes back. Bucky’s hands move in to push against Steve’s sides to turn him around, and Steve obediently goes with the pressure until Bucky efficiently has spun him around to face him. Fingers come up to grip lightly around Steve’s chin, gently tilting it up at the same time as Bucky brings his own mouth down. 

The kiss starts sweet, with a languid pace accompanied by calm, controlled breathing. Up until the point where Bucky’s tongue makes an experimental push against the seam of Steve’s lips that sparks a flare in Steve’s gut that sears through his entire body.

Suddenly Steve is tugging at the back of Bucky’s t-shirt, seeking refuge in the material stretching taut across Bucky’s shoulders, while Bucky’s hands pull at Steve’s hips to push them closer.

Breath rushes between their open mouths when they break away for air; Steve’s lungs suddenly feeling way too tight, his skin far too hot. Bucky’s body is alive beneath Steve’s hands as the muscles of his back rolls like waves in a rising tide while Bucky rocks them together. Steve feels his abs clench tight when Bucky’s fingers dip underneath the fabric of his shirt, and just like that, he knows what it is he wants; what he  _ needs _ .

“Bucky…?” he pants, gasping when Bucky’s fingers continue to skate up his ribs, making him shudder.

“Yeah?” Bucky breathes back.

“You wanna have sex with me?”

Bucky groans while rolling his hips harder against Steve’s body with a quake that Steve can feel reverberate through his own limbs. “Take a wild guess,” he growls, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip, turning Steve’s already-shaking knees to jelly. 

Bucky is crowding against him, firm and solid, and Steve wants nothing more than to just give in to the moment, to throw himself into the fire radiating off of Bucky’s skin.

That's why, when Bucky suddenly begins to pull away, Steve fists the front of Bucky’s shirt with an objecting noise in the back of his throat, making Bucky chuckle.

“Hold on,” he says while pushing at Steve's shoulders, urging for some space between them. “I'm just gonna use the bathroom real quick.”

“Mood killer,” Steve grumbles, but he obediently steps back nonetheless.

Bucky huffs out a laugh, and then he leans in to press his lips against Steve’s once more, soft and tender, before pulling back again. Steve takes the hint.

“I’ll be in the bedroom,” he says softly, his hand lingering on Bucky’s arm even as he moves to step around him.

“Don’t start without me,” Bucky teases, and Steve rolls his eyes at him as he picks up his discarded duffle from the floor.

“I’ll try to contain myself,” he promises, gracefully stepping out of reach when Bucky aims a slap to his ass as he walks past.

The moment he enters the bedroom, he’s looking around with increasing trepidation. He quickly gets to work with clearing his bed of discarded clothing, and practically ends up shoving them right back into his closet in an unfolded mess. Then he cleans the clutter off his bedside table, and as an afterthought, he also gives a quick check to the inside of his bedside table, just to make sure they have everything they’ll need once Bucky’s done in the bathroom.

Oh, god, now that’s a thought. In just a matter of minutes, Steve will most likely have Bucky naked and hard on his bed, and the very idea has him tipping his head back with a low groan towards the ceiling.

God, he’s nervous. So fucking nervous.

He knows that he had been quite enthusiastic out there in the car, and he had most definitely meant every single word he had said, but to actually get to  _ do  _ it… 

He runs his hands through his hair. Should he get undressed? Or at least take off his shirt before Bucky comes back? Or would that be too conceited? To crude?

He’s still in the middle of contemplating whether to remain standing or to lie down on the bed when Bucky walks through the door, still fully dressed except for his now missing jacket.

Steve remains standing awkwardly by the side of the bed as Bucky stops to stare down at Steve’s dark grey bedspread.

“Wow…” Bucky breathes, a dazed chuckle shaking his voice. “Is it just me or did things just get real, very, very fast?”

Steve looks at him.

“Are you nervous?” he asks.  _ Please, _ he thinks,  _ please, say yes. _

Bucky lets out another strained laugh while rubbing at his neck, still looking at the bed.

“Oh, buddy, you have no idea.” He clears his throat. “I mean, I know we pretty much wrecked third base last night, but I’m still— Fuck, it’s just so silly, you know?” he ends, chuckling.

Reaching out to gently place his hand upon Bucky’s left shoulder, Steve steps closer. Bucky glances up when Steve's palm makes contact with the shirt, and their eyes lock. In the silence that follows there is a short, mutual exchange.

_I don’t wanna screw this up, Steve._ _Not now._

_ There’s no need to worry. We’ll be fine. _

_ How do you know? _

Steve leans in, and pulls Bucky forward as he places a soft, tender kiss on his lips. He feels Bucky exhale and slump against him, relaxing against his body. Wrapping his other arm around Bucky’s midsection, Steve steers them around towards the bed, deepening the kiss when Bucky’s breath picks up speed beneath his mouth.

“Bucky…” Steve whispers.

“Yeah…?” Bucky answers, breathing the word into Steve’s mouth.

Steve smiles – a pleased, wicked little smirk. “Get on the bed.”

At that, Bucky groans, loudly, and he obediently steps back to do as he’s told. Walking backwards until his legs hit the bed frame, Bucky sinks down onto the mattress, shuffling backwards to stretch out on his back on top of the covers.

He’s absolutely gorgeous. Steve swears, he could stand there looking at him forever. Or at least, that’s what he thinks, up until Bucky drags his hand down to cup himself through his jeans with a low groan.

Steve is on him in an instant, and Bucky is warm and solid as Steve shoves him down amongst the beddings and yanks his hand away with a reprimanding grip by the wrist.

“What?” Bucky asks, grinning up at him. “You were taking too long.”

Steve’s hand finds a sliver of skin on Bucky’s bared stomach, and Bucky’s breath catches as Steve gives it a warning squeeze. 

“That’s not for you to decide,” Steve declares, blood sizzling when Bucky’s pupils dilate in response to his words. Wow, that’s new. And a good kind of new, at that.

As Steve slides his hand up underneath Bucky’s t-shirt, Bucky tips his head back with a soft sigh. Then, as Steve begins to mouth his way down to kiss and nip at his throat, Bucky’s entire body shivers at the touch. Steve rakes his fingernails over Bucky’s shoulders while Bucky fists the sheets by his sides, and Bucky shoves his hips up with a groan when Steve abruptly changes course to drag his teeth over the shell of Bucky’s left ear.

“You know that feeling,” Bucky pants, his voice raw, “...when you’re so turned on it literally makes your stomach hurt?”

Steve hums, and Bucky gasps when Steve digs a hand in between his body and the mattress to grab at Bucky’s ass to yank the two of them even closer together.

“What about it?” Steve asks.

“Right now, I’m that turned on,” Bucky hisses, and Steve lets out a dazed chuckle that morphs into a dirty moan when Bucky’s lips suddenly latch onto his pulse point to suck at the skin there.

“That sounds promising,” Steve admits breathily, and Bucky hums, rocking up against him. Steve’s other hand instantly goes to Bucky’s hips, gripping him tight, before moving further up to tug at Bucky’s bicep.

Bucky takes the hint, and he quickly pulls himself into a sitting position. Not wasting time, Steve then lies down by his side, before guiding Bucky to straddle him across the hips; a position that has begun to feel almost familiar at this point.

Steve slides his hands up Bucky’s thighs, breath quickening as his fingers trail their way up underneath Bucky’s shirt again to slide over his abs and waist. Grabbing Bucky’s sides, he gives an experimental pull, and Bucky eagerly lowers himself down to grind his clothed ass against Steve’s tenting jeans with a low moan.

“Is this what you thought about?” Steve asks while thrusting his hips up a little, causing Bucky’s eyes to flutter shut. “All those times you straddled me down on my couch? On the floor of my living room? Did you wrestle with me just feel what it would be like to have me underneath you?”

“Not every time,” Bucky breathes while rolling his pelvis down in a slow, languid circle. “But, yeah… some of ‘em…”

“And what did you think about specifically?” Steve prompts. “When you had me like that, writhing between your legs?”

He thrusts up again, more pointedly, and Bucky groans as he shoves his ass back against Steve’s crotch. “You inside of me,” he moans, and Steve swallows down a moan of his own when he sees the flustered blush that immediately spreads up Bucky’s neck.

“Yeah, you’ve wanted that for a long time now, haven’t you?” Steve asks. Holding Bucky in place while he grinds up, he rubs himself against Bucky’s ass through their layers of washed-out denim. “Aren’t you tired of waiting?”

_ God knows I am. _

Bucky nods as his fingers clutch at the front of Steve’s t-shirt.

“You want me to get you ready?” Steve whispers shakily. “Open you up?”

“Oh, fuck yeah…” Bucky groans, and Steve’s lip pulls up in a dazed smirk.

“Side table,” he instructs. “Bottom drawer.”

Bucky gives an unhappy little noise, as if he doesn’t want to leave the warmth of Steve’s lap, but he climbs off of him nonetheless. He follows Steve’s instructions, and returns with both lube and a pack of wet wipes from the drawer.

“Take your jeans off,” Steve orders softly, taking the supplies out of Bucky’s hands. It doesn’t take long before Bucky is kneeling on all fours in the middle of Steve’s big bed, slumped down onto his elbows while Steve works the first lubed finger into his ass.

Bucky still has his t-shirt on, although it has slid down to drape over his shoulders where he is, mewling delicious sounds into the pillows while his hips rock back onto Steve’s finger, begging him for more. Steve marvels that he has been able to live without ever having heard those noises for this long.

One finger soon becomes two, and when Steve eventually adds a third, Bucky lets out a soft whimper as he hides his face from view by pushing it down into Steve’s pillow, his thighs shaking.

Oh, Steve has to actually restrain himself not to start fucking his fingers into Bucky’s ass right then and there. Instead, he gently reaches around to slide his free hand up Bucky’s back, up over his ribs, and up towards his chest. 

“Wait!” Bucky gasps, one hand clasping over Steve’s fingers, halting them about half an inch away from Bucky’s nipple. Steve stills; the movements of his other hand stopping completely.

“Don’t do that,” Bucky pants, fumbling to push Steve’s hand away.

“Why not?” Steve asks, confused. “I thought you said— You’re saying you don’t wanna be touched there?”

Bucky lets out a breathless snort and closes his eyes with a chuckled moan when Steve resumes the work of his fingers, only slower than before.

“Actually, that would be the exact opposite of my problem…” A shudder rushes through Bucky's limbs, making his words near shake apart on their way past his lips. Steve still doesn’t understand.

“I don’t—”

“Remember when you asked me if I’ve touched myself while staying here?” Bucky interrupts him, almost whimpering. “And I told you I had?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, his brow furrowing.

“Well…” Bucky gulps. “I didn’t— I touched myself… and I came, but I never touched myself… like that.”

Steve opens his mouth to ask what he means, but as he takes in the furious blush of Bucky’s neck, and the tight clench of his fingers around Steve’s hand, realization hits. It’s like a flash going off inside his brain, and Bucky gives a startled yelp, followed by a groan when Steve's fingers give a twitch against his insides.

“Bucky?” Steve says slowly, practically hissing the name out between gritted teeth.

“Y—Yeah…?” Bucky stutters while trying not to rock back over the digits of Steve’s hand.

“Are you trying to tell me that you can come from having your nipples played with?”

There is a moment of silence, and then Bucky swallows, thick and audibly.

“Yes.”

Steve takes a deep, grounding breath, suddenly feeling weak all over. Oh, lord, the images inside his head… 

He leans forward to press his forehead against Bucky’s lower back, and a choked noise pushes itself out of his throat as the arousal makes him jerk inside his still-buttoned pants.

“Steve?” Bucky asks shakily. “Steve, you okay?”

“I just need a moment,” Steve rasps. “I’m fine, Buck, it’s not— I’m just trying to memorize all the things I’m thinking about doing to you right now.” Steve licks his lips as he moves his thumb to make a slow swipe over Bucky’s ribs. “I would like to try that,” he confesses. “To make you come like that.”

“What, right now?”

“Would you mind?”

“No,” Bucky groans. “No, I… Fuck, I— It's just that I've never had anyone else do it before. I'm not sure if I'll be able to when it's not my own hands doing the touching.”

“But you'd be willing to let me try, right?”

“God, yes.”

“There’s… something else,” Steve admits. He hesitates for a moment, before continuing, “I’d like to tie you up during. Nothing complicated, just… Just your wrists. Would that be alright?”

“On one condition,” Bucky grates, pushing back to make Steve move his fingers again. 

“What?”

“That you use the tie you wore to the wedding.” Peering over his shoulder, Bucky meets Steve’s gaze. “The one I picked out for you.”

Oh.

Oh, Steve can absolutely do that.

“Sounds reasonable,” he agrees, and Bucky groans again, arching his back when Steve resumes the movement of his fingers once more, stroking over his prostate in quick, teasing swipes. 

“Oh, hurry up…” Bucky begs as he drops his head to push it against the mattress. “Please, Stevie, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Not yet, I’m not,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky whines as Steve slowly pulls his fingers out to clean himself off with a wet wipe.

Finding the tie goes quickly. It’s neatly folded into the outer compartment of the suitcase, and as Steve pulls it out and lets the shiny silk roll out to dangle from the tip of his fingers, Bucky lets out an anticipating sigh.

Steve looks at him.

“I won’t tie it tight,” he says firmly. “And the moment you feel uncomfortable, you let me know. Do you understand?”

“Completely,” Bucky breathes. He’s still staring at the tie, and Steve rolls his eyes a him as he climbs back into the bed. 

“Bucky, how much do you know about bondage. Really?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Steve mutters. He looks at the tie in his hands, and then back at Bucky. “Do you trust me with this?” he asks, and Bucky, who’s finally seemed to realize that this is something serious, looks back at him.

“Yes,” he says. “I do.”

_ “Completely?” _

“Yes.” Bucky pauses, looking Steve in the eye. “I trust you.”

Slowly, Bucky brings both of his wrists together, fingers curled into his palm and facing the ceiling, before holding them out towards Steve. “You said the wrists, right?” he asks pointedly.

“I did,” Steve agrees, and Bucky’s lip quirks up in a cocky grin.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Steve gives him a long, silent look. Then he sighs, grabbing around Bucky’s wrist to tug it close enough for him to wrap the first loop of silk around it.

“You’re the absolute worst, you know that right?” he asks pointedly. 

“You say that as if you don’t like it,” Bucky answers coyly, grunting a little as Steve tugs the first knot in place. “I thought you said you’d keep it loose?”

“That was before you decided to be a smartass about it,” Steve counters. He gives Bucky a quick glance, before adding, softer, “Let me know if it’s too tight.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky promises. “I like it.”

“Good,” Steve says while trying to sound as if his heart hadn’t just tried to leap out of his damn throat at that. “Because you’ll be staying this way for a while.”

He pushes at Bucky’s chest to make him lie down, and Bucky obediently does. He’s still smirking in that infuriatingly pleased way that never fails to rile Steve up, and Steve responds to it by grabbing around Bucky’s bundled up wrists, and bringing them up over Bucky’s head. There, he firmly guides Bucky to grab around one of the metal bars of the headboard, squeezing around his fingers for emphasis before letting go.

“Those stay there,” he instructs, and he has to clench his teeth shut to keep himself from groaning out loud when Bucky gives an eager nod in return.

Steve takes a moment to appreciate the stunning visual of Bucky, bound and hard on his mattress. Bucky  _ still  _ has his t-shirt on, and the tip of his cock is nudging at the soft fabric folds covering his stomach, leaving a wet smear behind.

Slowly, Steve moves in to straddle Bucky’s left leg. As he stares Bucky down, he notices Bucky’s dick give a slight bob of anticipation, and Steve remembers what Bucky had told him back in the car, less than an hour ago. About making him wait for the good part.

“So…” he murmurs, as if to himself. “What should I do with you now, huh?”

He leans down, and nuzzles his lips against the soft skin of Bucky’s exposed tricep, making Bucky’s breath catch. “Perhaps I should start with a few kisses?” he ponders out loud. “You know how much I enjoy those, right?”

Bucky doesn’t answer, but he drags in a long, shivering breath through his nose when Steve begins to pepper his left arm with kisses. Steve knows that Bucky’s arms aren’t as ticklish as his sides are, but he also knows that they’re not exactly immune to touch. By the time Steve has kissed his way down to Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky’s entire body is twitching with poorly withheld giggles, mixed in with a few gasps as goosebumps rise in the winding wake of Steve’s lips.

“You like it?” Steve asks, more to tease than actually wanting an answer. “I can kiss you in other places too, if you want? Like right here,” he purrs while pressing his mouth against the side of Bucky’s neck. “Or maybe… here?”

He tries not to grin when Bucky tips his head back with a low groan to give Steve enough space to kiss his way across his exposed throat, and Steve can’t resist giving the skin a tender nip with his teeth in passing, just before pulling away.

Smoothing his hand down the front of Bucky’s chest, Steve takes note of the way Bucky’s breath hitches when Steve’s fingers come dangerously close to grazing a clothed nipple on the way down. Steve doesn’t act on it though. Not yet. 

Instead, he gently drags Bucky’s shirt up until it's bunched up underneath Bucky’s armpits to expose the full span of his chest. Bucky’s nipples are hard, and as Steve looks on, Bucky’s chest rises and falls in deep anticipating breaths. 

“Oh, wait,” Steve drawls. He splays his palm over Bucky’s stomach, allowing a smirk to curl over his lips. “I think I know just the spot…”

Bucky breathes out a low, “Holy shit,” as Steve leans down to kiss across his ribs, moving up until he’s nudging at Bucky’s left nipple with his lips. The touch, however light, makes Bucky’s breath stall, and when Steve closes his lips around the nub completely, Bucky makes a keening noise in the back of his throat as he clamps his eyes shut.

Once he's gotten started, Steve makes sure to take his time. He licks and sucks at the nipple until it's all pink and puffy, and Bucky's panting open-mouthed and ragged towards the ceiling. Then, he switches sides and moves over to the one on the right. This time, Bucky moans out loud as he squirms beneath Steve's mouth, twitching and jerking uncontrollably, albeit still with a white knuckled hold around the headboard.

Steve adds an experimental pressure of teeth to the mix – just a light nibble to test the waters – and Bucky damn near comes arching off the mattress in response.

“You doin’ okay?” Steve murmurs against the skin while smoothing his palm up and down Bucky’s stomach, feeling the muscles jump beneath his hand.

“Mhm,” Bucky moans from behind closed lips. “S’good.”

“Good enough?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Again, Bucky arches, his spine curling when Steve nips at his chest, and he tightens his grip around the headboard with another breathless, “Oh, yeah.”

The reaction has Steve smirking, and he abandons the plane of Bucky's stomach in favor of bringing both hands up to his chest instead. Bucky thrusts his hips up at the touch, searching for friction, but finds none.

“So, how long does it usually take for you, hm?” Steve asks curiously, and Bucky moans, shaking his head.

“Don't know,” he grits, still with his eyes shut. “Maybe ten minutes, I haven't—” With a loud gasp and another groan, he buries his face against the thick muscle of his own bicep when Steve gives both nipples a teasing flick. “Fuck’s sake, Stevie…”

Steve just smiles, and continues to roll Bucky’s nipples between his fingers. He switches between slow firm rubs and light pinches that seem to make Bucky's eyelids flutter every single time. Soon enough, Bucky’s shaking hard and his toes curl as he digs his feet into the mattress to hump his hips against the air beneath Steve's weight, his dick twitching and leaking against his stomach. 

“Steve… Oh, Steve…”

Steve groans as he twists Bucky's nipples harder, and Bucky downright convulses as he chokes on his own breath with a noise that shoots straight to Steve’s groin.

“Oh, god that’s it. That’s it, Steve, oh, fuck yes, don’t stop. Don’t  _ stop. _ ”

“You like it hard like that?” Steve asks breathlessly. “You want it rough?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whines, gritting his teeth. “Oh, fuck, yeah.”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Steve whispers. “Show me, Buck. You know I'm not gonna stop ‘til you get there. I swear, I could do this to you all damn day…”

Hearing Steve’s offer has Bucky tossing his head back against the mattress, and Steve sees Bucky's cock twitch; one, two, three times.

“That's it,” Steve urges. “That's it, baby, show me.  _ Show me. _ ”

Bucky jerks, his jaw slack as his eyes suddenly go wide. He makes a single attempt to pull his knees up as the muscles of his abs abruptly pull taut, and then he comes with a strangled gasp all over his own stomach and heaving chest.

Some of it lands on Steve's left hand, but Steve doesn't care; he's too distracted by the euphoric look on Bucky's face to notice anything else.

_ So beautiful, _ is the first thought that goes through his head.  _ So goddamn gorgeous. _

He continues to roll the pebbling nubs underneath his thumbs until Bucky goes lax against the covers, and then he gently pulls away to rub his palms in soothing circles across Bucky's clavicle.

Steve’s pretty sure Bucky doesn't even feel it when Steve gently unties his hands. Bucky just lies there; chest heaving, his eyes once again closed, now with his limbs sprawled over the bed, and with a blissful smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Using the wet wipes to clean him off, Steve peppers Bucky’s lips and cheeks with kisses, until Bucky snorts out laugh under his breath and slowly sits back up again.

“That was amazing,” Bucky murmurs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Steve replies smugly. He leans in and gives Bucky a kiss as he grinds his own hips down against the mattress. The friction is delicious, and Steve stutters out a soft groan against the curve of Bucky’s bottom lip.

“And what about you, huh?” Bucky hums. “You need a little somethin’?”

“If you don’t mind?” Steve asks, his skin prickling with goosebumps as the words comes rolling off Bucky's tongue in a purr. He moans when Bucky gently slots their lips together, and Bucky's hands, now free, eagerly grab around his waist. 

Bucky's grip is firm, and his body is warm where Steve presses against it in a silent plea for more. He's not disappointed. Bucky pulls Steve close with an eager moan, touching him all over, and they kiss until Steve can barely tell if he's about to have an asthma attack, or if Bucky's simply that good of a kisser.

They make out, lips and hands moving lazily, and even though Steve tries to keep himself in check, he still ends up dry humping the thick muscle of Bucky's thigh within just a few minutes. Having watched Bucky come undone like that has left him hard and wet in his underwear, yet even though he can barely wait for Bucky to touch him  _ there _ , he still doesn't want to stop what they're currently doing. Everything is so warm – blazing and blinding – and Steve's so horny he can feel the arousal throb through every last inch of his body.

“Bucky,” he murmurs, simply because he can, and Bucky groans and slides his hands down to grab around the back of Steve's knees. With a low growl, he rolls the two of them over, coming out on top, straddling Steve on all fours without even breaking away from the kiss. He lowers himself down to grind Steve into the mattress, still with one of Steve's knees hoisted up against his side for leverage. He's getting hard again. Steve can feel the naked length of Bucky's cock rub against his pants, and as Steve experimentally grinds back, Bucky lets out a loud groan against Steve's lips.

Grabbing for Steve's ass, Bucky shoves them even closer together while kissing along Steve's neck and up towards his ear, rolling his body down in a lazy, sinuous wave.

“I want you inside me, Stevie…” he whispers. “Wanna know what it feels like when you're fucking me. God, I wanna ride you until I come all over myself.”

Steve chokes back a strangled noise as the mental image of Bucky's description takes hold inside his mind, and he shoves blindly at Bucky's shoulder to make him sit up.

Bucky obediently moves back, and once he's up far enough for Steve to get a hand between them, Steve reaches down to fumble his jeans open. The buttons come undone, and Steve tugs both his jeans and underwear down to his knees, before kicking them off completely. 

His cock is hard, gleaming wet at the head, and when he looks up he sees that Bucky is staring at it with a hunger in his eyes that makes Steve's stomach flip.

Steve swallows tightly, and as he grips around the base of himself, Bucky's eyes grow even wider. 

“You want this?” Steve asks. His voice is rattling with a combination of nerves and excitement, but it seems to get his point across just fine. Bucky nods, barely noticeably, and Steve watches as he slowly pushes himself up from the mattress to reach for the discarded lube bottle that's been abandoned by the foot of the bed, his gaze never leaving Steve's dick.

The lube is cold, and Steve hisses as Bucky pours it over him while biting down on his lower lip. Bucky just smirks and caps the bottle once more, tossing it aside. Then, he gracefully slings his leg over Steve's waist to straddle him, and leans forward to brace his weight against the pillow next to Steve's head as he carefully moves back to position himself.

The movements look so practiced and natural, Steve can't help but feel both awkward and clumsy in comparison.

“Have you done this a lot?” he asks quietly, and Bucky sends him a quick look as he leans back to brace one hand against the slim width of Steve’s thigh.

“Once or twice,” he admits modestly. “Though…” he adds, smirking as he circles his hand around Steve's cock, “it’s been awhile since I did this  _ with  _ anyone.” 

Steve’s lip quirk into a smile, even though partially distracted by Bucky's fingers against his skin. Then, his own fingers clench hard around Bucky’s knees when Bucky slowly begins to lower himself down. Bucky lets out a soft, drawn-out sigh when the tip of Steve’s cock breaches him, and the muscles of his thighs tremble with the effort of keeping him elevated. Steve holds his breath, not daring to move as much as an eyelid as Bucky swallows him up, the tight heat of his body wrapping around him. He feels the fingers of Bucky’s other hand twitch against his leg with each tantalizing inch, until the back of Bucky’s thighs are seated firmly on top of Steve’s hips.

Bucky breathes deeply to keep himself grounded while his body adjusts to accommodate the pressure, tremors coursing through him where he kneels, eyes closed with his head tipped back towards the ceiling.

Gingerly, Steve reaches out to let his fingers trail up Bucky’s thigh towards his groin, but when he tries to wrap them around Bucky’s cock – which has lost some of its vigor during the process – Bucky slaps his hand away.

“No touching,” he scolds as he rolls his hips in an experimental circle, gasping; a sound Steve mimics when he feels Bucky’s muscles tighten around him.

“I wanna touch,” Steve groans, even as he drops his hand to smooth it against Bucky’s knee once more. Bucky shivers.

“Alright,” he compromises. “Just…don’t touch me  _ there _ . I wanna come from your dick, not your hand.”

Steve nods. “I can work with that,” he admits while raking his nails along the inside of Bucky’s spread thighs, making Bucky jerk, only to have him moan a split second later as Steve gives a tentative thrust of his hips.

Bucky sets a slow, almost lazy pace. Gyrating his hips in small, delicate circles over Steve’s crotch, he sighs contentedly with each turn. Steve watches, obediently keeping his hands away from Bucky’s groin, just like he promised, even though it’s proving to be very difficult.

Bucky is not fully hard, not yet, but he's getting there. Every now and then, his dick gives a twitch that makes it grow a little bit thicker each time, and Steve's fingers are itching with the need he has to feel the weight of it in his hands. 

It doesn’t take long before Bucky is riding him in earnest, slowly bouncing over his cock and rocking himself down with needy noises, biting his lip. Steve runs his hands up and down Bucky’s legs, folding over the edge of sharp hipbones and raking his nails over the soft skin to leave prickling goosebumps in the wake of his fingers. Bucky keens, stuttering into the touch as he uses his hands to brace himself against Steve’s mattress.

It's obvious that Bucky's trying not to put any weight on him, and even though Steve understands why, he can't say that he approves.

“You don't have to hold yourself up,” he rasps. He gives Bucky's knee a little tug. “C’mon, I can take it.”

Bucky opens his eyes, just enough to lock his gaze with Steve's own.

“You sure?” he whispers. “I might be too heavy.”

“Not for this, you're not,” Steve retorts with a low growl that even he himself can't tell the origin of. It does the trick, however, and Bucky finally lowers himself down, his body tensing up with a ragged noise that makes lightning bolts of arousal flash through Steve's gut.

“Don't move,” Bucky breathes urgently. “Just— Stay still for a sec, alright? Just lemme…” Carefully, he lifts himself up, then lowers down again, groaning under his breath. “Fuck, you're so goddamn  _ thick _ .”

Steve lets out a low, somewhat hoarse chuckle at that, but his focus is fraying at the edges with every single move Bucky makes. True, for Steve, they're only teasing, not providing with enough friction to cause anything but a slow, frustrating buildup, but he loves it nonetheless. Seeing Bucky fall apart in front of him, on top of him, makes it all worth it, providing him with a different kind of pleasure.

But watching is not enough; he wants to actually be the one  _ giving _ Bucky pleasure too. He wants to  _ touch _ . And since he’s not allowed to touch Bucky’s cock… 

Steve trails his hands up, brushing against Bucky’s sides and ribs, sliding his palms over the clothed chest. His fingers catch onto the edges of Bucky’s nipples through his t-shirt and Bucky shudders, looking down to watch Steve’s hand stroke him, whimpering at the sight.

With the next motion of Steve's palms, Bucky's cock immediately dribbles precome onto Steve’s stomach. Steve raises a brow, repeating the action, and Bucky shoves himself back even harder over Steve’s cock in response.

“Fuck…” he whines. “Fuck, oh, fuck…”

“Is it really that bad, still?” Steve says with a smile as he continues to rub the tip of his index finger against the nub on the right side of Bucky’s chest, making Bucky spasm violently.

“Yes..!” he gasps. “Shit, I told you, you can’t— Don’t— Fuck, _ please. _ ”

Steve lets out a laugh, but he lets his hands drop. Instead, he reaches around and grabs hold of the globes of Bucky’s ass, kneading them in his palms. Then, just to see if he can, he bends his knees to gain leverage as he thrusts up into the man above him with a low grunt.

Bucky gasps as he falls forward, catching himself against the sides of Steve’s chest with a marveled stare.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, the warmth of his breath beating against Steve's lips. “Oh,  _ Christ, _ that’s a good spot…”

“You like that?” Steve groans as he rocks up again.

“I fucking love it.” Bucky moans, looking down at Steve from above.

“Does it feel like you imagined it?” Steve prompts breathlessly. “Having me inside?”

Bucky shakes his head as he bites down on his lower lip to stifle another whimper, before answering through gritted teeth, “No. No, you feel better. So much better… Oh,  _ fuck, _ Stevie.”

Steve’s gaze slides down to lock onto where Bucky’s cock is slapping against Steve's stomach in time with his thrusts, thick and leaking, leaving a puddle of precome on his skin. He tightens his grip on Bucky’s ass, and Bucky’ hips twitch hard.

“Oh, yeah… Oh, fuck yeah…” Bucky mewls, grinding down harder while leaning back and canting his head towards the ceiling as he begins to move faster, losing focus as his breath rises into a strung out wince. 

“Faster,” he whimpers. “God, Stevie, I need you faster. It feels so good… So good…”

“Can't,” Steve manages. “I won't last.”

Bucky jerks with a loud moan, as if the mere thought of Steve trying to keep himself from coming is enough to nearly send him over the edge.

“Wanna make you fucking lose it,” he whispers, as if to himself. “Wanna make you come inside me. God, Steve, I've waited so  _ long. _ ”

Steve growls as he feels the heat in his groin pool tighter, white noise filling up his head as he clenches his eyes shut.

“Bucky, shut up,” he hisses, fingers digging into Bucky's skin to make himself last. Just a little longer, just— 

“Fuck me.” The sound of Bucky whine ripples up Steve's spine. “Steve, fuck me,  _ please,  _ I'm so close…”

Steve knows that he's making some sort of noise, because he can feel the sound of it tremble inside his throat, but he can't hear it. The buzz of his own approaching climax drowns out everything as the end comes rushing towards him, bright and sizzling like a molten star. Grunting, he thrusts up as fast and hard as he can manage, over and over, hands grabbing Bucky's ass so hard they’re sure to leave bruises.

“C’mon,” he breathes out through gritted teeth, almost delirious. “C’mon, baby.”

Bucky gasps as his fingers twitch against Steve’s shoulders as Steve drives into him. “Oh, shit,” he manages. “Shit, I’m gonna come again. Steve, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me c— Steve, oh, god,  _ Steve. _ ”

With a final, hard shove, Steve comes, groaning and gasping. He feels the wet gush of heat that dribbles down onto his stomach when Bucky climaxes, and he hears Bucky choke out his name above his head as Bucky tumbles over the edge for a second time, right there with him.

Bucky continues to move, rocking himself down over Steve’s cock with heady, ragged breaths, milking himself with hoarse moans and whimpers until his entire body is shaking with it.

Slowly, Steve melts back into the covers of the bed, urging Bucky to come down with him while the final buzz of pleasure spark through their limbs. Bucky follows without fuss, draping himself over Steve’s body like a human blanket, completely sated.

At least that’s what Steve thinks.

“So,” Bucky grates out against his chest. “Pizza tonight?”

Steve laughs, dragging a tired hand down over his eyes.

“You’re seriously thinking about food?” he asks incredulously. “Now?”

“Sex makes me hungry,” Bucky argues.

“Bucky, I’m still  _ inside  _ you,” Steve points out. “Like,  _ literally _ .”

He can feel the annoyed grumble Bucky makes in return reverberate through his chest.

“You’re gonna have to clean yourself up again,” Steve continues, not paying Bucky's protest any attention. “Or you’re going to make a mess of my bed.”

“Maybe I wanna make a mess of your bed?” Bucky argues, probably more for the argument’s sake than anything else. Steve chuckles again, shoving at Bucky’s shoulder pointedly to make Bucky sit up.

While Bucky goes into the bathroom to clean up, Steve remakes the bed, straightening the covers and clearing away the used wet wipes, before getting dressed. Even if he likes the idea of spending the rest of the day naked in the apartment with Bucky, he suspects that their future pizza delivery man won’t look at the scenario with the same enthusiasm.

Bucky seems to have thought the same, because when he eventually joins Steve in the living room, he’s once again wearing his jeans and old band shirt. He has a beer in each hand, and he hands one of the bottles to Steve before he – with more delicate care than normal, Steve notes – sits down next to him on the couch with a contented sigh.

“You okay?” Steve asks, and Bucky scoffs, waving his hand dismissively as he takes a deep swig from his bottle.

“I’m fine,” he promises. “Just a bit sore.” He sends Steve a smirk. “That’s some thrusting power you’ve got there. No wonder your ass looks so good.” 

Steve chuckles, shaking his head while he swallows down a mouthful from his own bottle. Even  _ he _ recognizes a compliment when he gets one, but as they both know, Steve’s never been very good at handling those.

“I was thinking,” Steve says instead, quickly changing the subject. “That we should probably get you a toothbrush or something. To keep around the apartment, I mean.”

Bucky looks at him, raising a brow.

“A toothbrush?” he repeats slowly. 

“If you want one?” Steve asks, suddenly nervous. Is he moving too fast? Too much, too soon?

“How about…” Bucky drawls while thoughtfully tapping the rim of his bottle against his lower lip. “…you throw in some mouthwash and a spare key with that toothbrush, and you’ve got yourself a good base to work on.”

Steve blinks.

“A base?” he repeats, the relief of Bucky’s argument making him chuckle. “What more do you want?”

“A drawer for some clothes,” Bucky suggests. “A shelf in the bathroom. A section of the kitchen cupboard.”

Steve frowns at him.

“What do you want the kitchen cupboard for?” he asks warily. 

“My snacks, of course.” Bucky rolls his eyes as if it it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ll give you the drawer and the bathroom shelf,” Steve barters. “But if you bring snacks into my home, you’d better expect to share them.”

Bucky narrows his eyes into a calculating squint. “Alright,” he says. “But then I get to sleep on the left side of the bed.”

“Left from the door or left from the bed?”

“From the door.”

“Agreed.”

They clink the necks of their bottles together and drink, only to break out in a fit of mutual snorted giggles when they make eye contact from across the couch seconds later.

“You’re such an idiot,” Steve says with a chuckle, laughing even harder when Bucky lets out an offended squawk in return.

“Oh, so  _ I’m _ the idiot?” Bucky mocks. “Says the guy who didn’t even realize he had a crush on his best friend.”

“Says the guy who had a crush on his best friend for  _ years  _ without saying anything,” Steve retorts just as quickly. 

“Touché,” Bucky admits, taking another drink out of his beer. “Man, just thinking about all the sex we could have had,” he ponders loudly. “You, me… your surprisingly strong ass.”

“Like I said,” Steve says, smirking. “Idiot.”

“Aw, c’mon. Say it,” Bucky orders, leaning in towards him. “Say  _ ‘I have a great ass’. _ ”

“No,” Steve replies flatly.

“Just once,” Bucky coaxes. Tenderly, and without any subtlety whatsoever, he reaches out to slide his fingers up Steve’s arm. “For me?  _ Pretty  _ please.”

“The additional presence of the word ‘please’ don't make no difference, Buck.”

“ _ Pleeeaaase. _ ”

Steve rolls his eyes to the ceiling with an exasperated sigh.

_ “I have a great ass,” _ he recites, albeit without much feeling. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

“Good boy,” he purrs. His hand comes up to wrap warm, calloused fingers around the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him in for a rewarding kiss.

He tastes of beer, Steve notes. And warm summer days in the sun. Steve’s favourites.

“Hey…” Bucky murmurs against his lips, pulling Steve out of the pleasant haze he had been about to slip into with a quizzical hum.

“If we’re gonna be together now, like for real,” Bucky asks gleefully. “Does that make us a couple… or  _ friends with benefits? _ ”

“One more joke like that, and you’ll be downsized to half a bathroom shelf,” Steve threatens tenderly. Then he presses another, firmer kiss against Bucky’s lips, before Bucky gets a chance to make a pun out of something even more ridiculous.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> As usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I do my best to respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	7. Epilogue - In Sickness and in Health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, guys. Been traveling and the schedules clashed slightly <3

Bucky fumbles with the door, but somehow still manages to both tuck the keys back into the pocket of his winter jacket,  _ and _ turn the knob without dropping the bag of groceries cradled in his arms.

Stepping inside, he stomps his feet off on the door mat, before about as gracefully as he had opened it, closing the door behind him.

“I'm back,” he calls out to the silence of the apartment, but the reply he had been expecting remains absent.

Bucky toes his shoes off and momentarily puts the grocery bag down in order to take off his jacket and hang it up, before scooping up the bag again. Passing the doorway to the living room on his way to the kitchen, Bucky pauses to sneak a curious peek inside.

Steve is asleep on the couch, curled up on his side with his legs tucked up underneath a thick blanket. The T.V. is on, but muted; currently displaying some sort of animal documentary. One corner of the coffee table is  _ littered _ with crumpled up tissues, albeit neatly gathered into a pile next to a bottle of nasal spray, an empty plate, and what Bucky suspects is a half-drunk cup of now-cold tea.

Steve is snoring, but Bucky suspects that the cold his beloved partner has managed to come down with is to blame for that.

Quietly, Bucky sets the groceries down by the doorway and carefully goes to sit down on the couch by Steve's hip. As he reaches out to comb his fingers through the wheat-colored strands of Steve's hair, he can't help the fond smile that curls across his lips at the sight of the wet patch of drool that's bloomed over the other man’s sleeve.

Leaning down, he presses a tender kiss to the ridge of Steve's cheekbone, and Steve stirs with a grumbled out sigh.

“Ya shouldn't do that…” he murmurs hoarsely. “M’ contagious.”

Bucky chuckles as he nuzzles his nose against Steve's temple, kissing him again. “No use,” he hums. “You've already given me the lovebug. It's too late for me.”

Steve groans at the obvious pun while he untangles his arm from underneath the cover of the blanket. He gives Bucky's knee a weak reprimanding slap, and then leaves his hand folded over the top of his thigh.

“How'd shopping go?” Steve croaks, clearing his throat in a futile attempt to rid it of the dry scratch caused by the cold.

“Good,” Bucky reports. “I found everything I needed.”

“Good,” Steve echoes. His eyes are still closed, and Bucky can tell that it won't be long until he's fast asleep again.

“You want me to wake you up when dinner’s ready?” Bucky asks softly.

“Sure,” Steve half-sighs. “I'm just gonna rest— rest my—” His sentence suddenly gets cut off by a vicious coughing fit that has Steve's entire body jerking with the force of it. Bucky watches with a helpless clench to his heart how Steve tries to get his breathing back under control. Steve reaches out to grab blindly for the packet of tissues on the table, and Bucky immediately snatches it up and hands it to him.

Steve wheezes out something that might have been a, “Thank you,” before ripping out a tissue and covering his mouth with it.

Bucky makes a face as Steve – after much struggle and what sounds like a near-death experience more than anything – finally manages to retch up whatever mucus that had been lodged in his throat and lungs. The coughing is the worst part of the whole deal, in Bucky’s opinion. With Steve’s asthma, it doesn’t take much for a standard coughing fit to turn into a full-blown struggle to even  _ breathe. _ But Bucky has learned by now to trust that Steve knows his own limits, and will ask for help if he needs it.

Or, at least, Bucky hopes so.

“God, Stevie,” Bucky groans as Steve folds the tissue up and places it on top of the pile on the table. “You sound like you're dying.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, clearing his throat one more time. “Feels like it too. You think it might be fatal?”

“Nah,” Bucky says, even though his stomach gives an uncomfortable clench at the thought of Steve actually coughing himself to death. “Nah. You're tougher than that. Tiny, but tough.”

“Watch your mouth,” Steve grumbles while swatting the blanket at Bucky’s face as he crawls back underneath it to settle onto the couch once more. “Last time I checked, the word  _ ‘tiny’ _ wasn't exactly what you used to describe me.”

“Touché…” Bucky murmurs. Then he leans in and kisses Steve’s forehead before standing up from the couch. “Try to get some more sleep. I'll wake you up when it's time to eat.”

“You're still making that chicken soup?” Steve asks while closing his eyes.

“Just like ma taught me,” Bucky confirms with a proud grin.

“With your homemade garlic bread on the side?”

“Of course.”

“ _ Fuck, _ I love you,” Steve groans, obviously pleased.

“I know,” Bucky replies casually. He’s smiling like a complete dork while doing so, however, he knows that. It’s a reflex, and hearing Steve say he loves him never fails to make that goofy smile stretch across his entire goddamn face. 

Taking one final look at his already snoozing lover, Bucky leans down and presses a swift kiss to the curve of Steve’s lower lip.

“I love you too.”

“Obviously not,” Steve retorts slyly. “If you did, you’d be in the kitchen already.”

“Fucking punk…” Bucky mutters, and his grin widens to the point where his cheeks nearly ache with it. “You’re lucky you’re sick, or I would’ve shoved you off the couch for that one.”

“Lucky me, then,” Steve agrees. He’s smirking, the little shit. Bucky just barely resists the temptation to actually go through with his threat, just out of principle, but then his eyes fall on the heap of tissues on the table, and decides not to.

“Sleep,” he says instead, giving Steve’s hip an affectionate pat through the blanket. “I want my feisty little sweetheart back to full health as soon as possible.”

“Roger that,” Steve murmurs. He sighs and burrows deeper into the throw cushion under his head. Bucky rolls his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head as he turns around to head out the room, picking up the grocery bag from the floor on the way out.

Nevertheless, by the time he starts unpacking the food onto the kitchen counter, he’s still smiling.

Glancing over his shoulder as he goes to fetch the cutting board, he can see through the narrow gap in the doors between the living room and kitchen that Steve’s indeed already sleeping again. Snoring softly, mouth open, he looks more vulnerable than ever, and Bucky’s heart nearly floods over with adoration at the mere sight of him.

He had been worried that Steve was going to wonder what had taken him so long at the grocery store, but thankfully, the fever appears to have been good for one thing, at least. 

Bucky gnaws on his lower lip as he warily lets his hand slip into the pocket of his jeans while keeping a vigilant eye on his sleeping partner through the door. The smooth texture of the tiny velvet box has his stomach tying itself into excited knots in an instant, and he just barely manages to resist the urge to take it out and look at it for about the hundredth time since he left the jewelry store.

He had gone with a fancy box, of course – none of that plastic crap for this, oh no. This is supposed to be  _ special _ , and Bucky wants to make damn sure that it shows as well. 

For now, he’s going to go hide his newly-acquired little secret somewhere in the deepest corner of his closet while the soup boils. He  _ had _ planned for this weekend to go a bit differently, but then Steve had come down with the major case of the sniffles, and so Bucky’s little surprise is simply going to have to wait. He has managed to keep it a secret for this long – he can go another week.

After all, what kind of proposal would it be if the intended spouse-to-be accidentally coughs himself to death out of sheer shock once Bucky pops the big question?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> As usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I do my best to respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


End file.
